Knight Rider 2008
by bluecheck15
Summary: The newest Knight Rider TV movie wasn't what I expected. So, without further ado, here is my own take on how the movie should have went...
1. Foreword

Knight Rider 2008

Foreword:

Knight Rider just aired its fourth iteration of the once-popular series. However, since the original, all attempts to capture the magic of the original series have ended in failure. I admit, I was very disappointed to see writers and Hollywood in general ignore a plethora of unique qualities that identified Knight Rider and instead regulate those qualities to the backseat while substituting bland storylines, meaningless car chases, implausible action, violence and sex to appeal to the (supposedly) demographic audience of today.

Thus, I am going to attempt to rewrite Knight Rider: The Movie (2008) in the hopes of bringing back some of the magic that was Knight Rider.

Thank you for reading.

Sincerely,

W. Lee


	2. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

_11 Years Ago…_

"Lisa! Wait up!"

Thirteen year old Lisa Woodman looked over her shoulder and laughed as she ran across the expanse of green grass. Behind her, her good friend Sarah Gainman gave chase, though she was slightly bogged down with the snorkeling gear she carried in her arms. The old boathouse belonging to the private school for girls was set back a little ways from the main school, making a full-out run slightly exhausting. And that was without carrying diving booties, a snorkeling mask, a breathing tube, and a weight belt weighted down with dullish grey lead weights.

She reached the old boathouse breathing hard, but whether it was from the nearly inhuman sprint across the lawn or her own excitement, she wasn't sure. Sarah lagged behind a good ten seconds, juggling the gear in her arms, a hurt expression on her face. "Saaaaraaaaah!" she whined, finally catching up, trying desperately to hold onto the gear while huffing and puffing from the taxing run.

Laughing, Lisa felt a flash of guilt and reached over to remove the gear from her friends arms. "Urk!" Lisa grunted, surprised at how cumbersome all the gear really was, and even more surprised that her friend had managed something of a sprint while carrying it all.

Sarah was bent over, hands on knees, and gasped out, "You're….so mean…making me carry…all your…stuff."

"Ummmm," Lisa grunted, leaning toward the door with one hand, while trying to balance the gear in her arms. "But I'm the one jumping in the nasty boathouse water!"

Sarah saw her friend straining to grasp the doorknob with one hand while all the gear tottered dangerously in her arms. She huffed, "Stand aside. I'll get the door for you. It's the _least _I can do for you taking all the gear."

Lisa straightened out in just enough time to catch a bootie falling from the pile in her arms. She grinned at her. "My, my. You get better at the whole sarcasm thing every day!"

The door clicked open. Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yes, and we all know where it comes from, don't we?" She followed her friend into the darkened interior of the boathouse.

Sarah wasn't sure why she always followed her friend Lisa on these really strange jaunts. Ever since that incident a while back at their private school where Lisa had somehow become involved a plot to assassinate another country's leader over some treaty, she had become different somehow. She became more confident, more sure of herself, and more inquisitive about everything. It was really different from the quiet, shy, and depressed Lisa that she used to know. She now had an insatiable curiosity about everything that took on a life of its own. And it really drove a lot of their professors right up and over the wall.

But seeing her friend come alive again, especially after her parents began spiraling downwards towards a very ugly divorce, lifted Sarah's spirits like the sun on a wonderful day. And her increasingly inquisitive friend dragged her along in her never-ending quests of knowledge, to which Sarah was more than happy to oblige.

The boathouse was old, but it was well-cared for. Bright sunlight shone through the open end that led to the water. The planks were neat and clean. The tables lining all sides of the boathouse had tools and parts scattered about, but there was very evidence of dust and webs about, which spoke volumes about the care and maintenance of everything on the property. Tiny ripples lapped gently against the outboard boat moored to the single slip inside the boathouse.

She watched as Lisa carefully placed all the gear neatly on the floor, almost as if she were memorizing where each piece was. Then Lisa quickly stripped out of her school uniform, revealing a two-piece swimsuit underneath her clothes.

"Lisa!" she gasped, taking in the sight. "How scandalous!"

Lisa mock glared at her. "You don't expect me to use the school swimsuit, do you? That thing is detestable. It's so horrible it does not deserve the swimsuit categorization!" She reached down and began attaching the lead weight belt to her slim hips.

"You will be doing much more than that if the Headmaster catches you in that! He'll make you categorize every plant on this property in detention!" Sarah scolded, watching as Lisa equipped herself with all the snorkeling gear. Lisa, a girl who detested swimming, who had to be dragged screaming and kicking into the water for her swimming lessons, was gearing up to go into the nasty water of the boathouse of her _own volition! _Not only that, but she had shocked all her friends when she revealed that her parents had bought her exactly what she had wanted for her birthday: snorkeling gear!

Lisa pulled on the booties and fitted the breathing tube to the mask. "Doubt it…unless someone _such as youself doesn't _keep a lookout in the window!"

"Yes, yes. I supposed someone has to keep you out of trouble," muttered Sarah, peeking out of all the windows. "Hmmm, I don't see anyone."

"Good," Lisa replied, stepping down on the short ladder that led to the murky water.

"Ewww," Sarah commented as she watched her friend enter the oilish water.

"Omygosh! This is soooo cooold!" Lisa protested as her feet entered the water. She felt goose bumps break out all over her body. But gamely, she forced herself to continue, slipping her calves, then her thighs, all the while chanting 'omygoshomygoshohmygosh'.

Sarah shook her head. "You're nuts."

"Definitely," Lisa agreed, immersing herself to her shoulders.

Sarah reached into Lisa's bag and pulled out the last two items: two test-tubes with stoppers in them. Lisa treaded water while pulling on her mask and fitting her breathing tube to the mask. Sarah handed all the items to Lisa. "What are those?"

Lisa's eyes twinkled as she looked at her friend. "Bioluminescence."

Sarah scrunched up her nose. "What?"

"Watch." Sarah vigorously shook the two test tubes. A sudden bright greenish-blue glow illuminated the two girls.

"Whoa…" Sarah said, her eyes opening in surprise. "What is that? It looks like a glow-rod!"

Lisa smiled mysteriously. "Something like that."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Oh, just happen to find some things in the science lab and put them together."

Sarah looked on in wonder at the two tubes. "How'd you know how to do that?"

Now Lisa grinned and leaned close, like she was sharing a secret. "The stuff was already there. I just figured out a different way to use them."

Taking a deep breath, she fitted the tube between her lips and sank, disappearing into the brackish water, and missing the very thoughtful expression on her friend's face. She wasn't sure how much time she sat there on the edge of the berth. Lisa's last statement kept turning over and over in her head. She was shaken out of her thoughts as her friend's snorkel broke the surface.

"Eeeeeeek!" she squealed, lunging to the side, narrowly avoiding the spray of water that erupted from Lisa's breathing tube. That came suspiciously close to her…

The ripples from her friend's disappearance slowly lapped against the walls of the berth. Soon, a gentle glow from Lisa's rods penetrated the gloomy water. She could just make out the form of her young friend. Like a manta ray, Lisa's form glided slowly and silently across the bottom of the berth, systematically sweeping her way along the floor.

She looked through the windows again to see of anyone was coming to the boathouse before turning back to follow her friend's progress. Suddenly, her friend's head broke the surface of the water. Following that was a brilliant smile. Her eyes followed Lisa's hand as she raised it triumphantly in the air. Clutched in her fist was…a red Swiss Army multi-knife.


	3. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

_Present Day…_

Perhaps it was cliché. Perhaps it was used far too often in B or even C-rated movies. Perhaps it was used because it was what it was: it was effective. 9 men and 3 women gathered around an oval table. At the head of the table was a distinguished fellow. His manner, his posture, his sure gazes exuded a confidence that he wore like a second skin. It permeated the room and surrounded everyone that was there. However, he alone did not carry that air. The men and woman around him were no less different. They, too, were cut from similar clothes. Otherwise, they would not be here. The gathering place had been chosen at random. They did not meet in the same place twice. And at each meeting, the gathering place was extensively swept for listening devices. Snipers were positioned in secure areas that covered every approach to the group of men and woman gathered there. Not even a rat would be able to infiltrate within 100 meters without someone knowing about it. Security was tight. It was paramount. It had to be.

For what these men and women planned was monstrous. It was traitorous. It was a plan of action the world had never seen.

The man at the head of the table rested his arms on the strong oak. He laced his fingers together and leaned forward. His steady gaze held each and every one of the men and women's eyes. There would be no reversal of any decision from here on out. There would be no abstentions. There would be no going back. And there would be the devil to pay if the Plan went wrong.

In a deep gravely voice that was laced with steel, he spoke, "David, what of your end?"

A young man with glasses leaned forward and matched his posture. "I have concluded our deal with the head council of the Alquiada. Six high-yield ex-Soviet nuclear warheads have been loaded onto ships in various ports in the east. They only need our word to weight anchor and bring the weapons into US waters."

The man at the head of the table nodded. "Very well. Sam?"

A black man graying at the temples nodded. "Sir. All US forces and Allies have been diverted away from our allies. There exists no intelligence in the areas to indicate the cargo of the ships. All evidence has been sterilized and erased."

"Mary, what of your end?"

And elder lady dressed in an expensive custom-made red business suit answered. "My team has activated and mobilized all teams to the coastal drop points where they will remain undercover until the arrival of the nuclear cargo. Once delivered, they can load and deliver all nuclear warheads to the target cities within three days."

"Sandy?"

A very attractive blonde woman sat back and crossed her arms over her breasts. "We have supplied false intel to all intelligence agencies and have them working full-time on threats that we manufactured. My team know of all their operations and we are certain that there is nothing to indicate their knowledge of the Plan. My Team has triple checked the safe zones within our country and positioned our assets accordingly. I have confirmed with everyone here that all their military resources under our command have finished their mobilizations. They are in place."

"And CTU?"

An elderly gentleman to the left of the head of the table spoke up. "All alphabet agencies have no engaged activities that are not relate to ours. The Department of Homeland Security and CTU, Jack Bauer and all their resources are currently engaged with our decoy cell. They think they have the real thing," he summed up smugly.

His smug grin slowly disappeared in the silence that followed his bold statement. The man at the head of the table stared at him until the elderly gentleman was forced to look away. But he did not find any solace in his companions.

"Do _not _become overconfident. Do not let down your guard. For we stand on the precipice of our own design, one which, if our Plan should fail, and we are fortunate, will kill us swiftly. I do not wish to imagine the consequences should our government discover us prematurely."

He stood. "Gentlemen and ladies. I have a dream. And for the past several months, you all have been a part of that dream. I dream of a government where politicians do not line their pockets full of hard-earned tax-payer money. I have a dream of a government that does not automatically grant a $100,000 car to a new politician while a patient suffers and dies in our hospitals because they needed a bed. I dream of a government where politicians do not decide upon a whim to wrongly reward themselves with a 10, 20, even 30 wage increase while some homeless person, some boy, some girl, or some family perished of all hope cry for help. I dream of a government where the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, where we are the voices of the people, the servants chosen by the people to do their will…and not the other way around. For over the years, I have seen a government that has become corrupted by their own power, and this corruption runs into the very bones of our government like a terminal cancer. It cannot be cut out. It cannot be operated on. It cannot be excised by any form of intervention."

He shook his head. "I have tried long and hard to fight the system we have. But for every corrupt politician that is excised, two others take their place. The corruption, the filth that has become our government runs deep. It has literally become our way of government. It is entrenched so deep that no amount of change short of utter disassembly would fix our ailing system."

He took a breath. His face developed a look of resolve but sadness that was only seen on the best of commanders: the ones who knew their duty decreed sending good men to their deaths. "I have searched long and hard. I have gathered the most powerful of allies, and we have tried to fix the system that is our government. But in our quest, we have encountered road block after road block. In many cases, we have seen nothing but outright hostility. And after so many years of tilting at windmills, I have come to the only conclusions… we must start over. For this corruption has become the very policy upon which our government works. I know that each of us is intimately familiar with the Declaration of Independence, and I believe in the core of my soul that the signers would have never envisioned the monster that is now our government. Gentlemen and ladies, for the past several years, there is one line that has become the heart of my endeavors, and as time has progressed on, it has made itself increasing known to me."

He reached down and brought up a round cylinder. Opening it, he withdrew a parchment. It was old, weathered and had the smell of ages. As he unrolled it in the center of the table, there were audible gaps. The value of the document hit home: it was the original Declaration of Independence.

He read in a reverent voice, "When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security."

The silence that followed spoke volumes. He finally looked up and met each person's gaze. "Should we succeed, we will all face final Judgement for our actions. We will face Judgement from those who gave us all we have today. There will be casualties. There will be millions of innocent casualties, and I do not take solace in the justification of our actions, but it must be done."

He looked gravely around the table. Faces resolute and firm stared back. "Senators, this will be the final gathering. I have found Prometheus." He stood and leaned onto the table. The air was electrified but silent as everyone waited with abated breath. "Make no mistake. Once we acquire Prometheus, we will control all the computers responsible for missile guidance and every US satellite in orbit. And we will open holes in our country's defenses to allow the import of nuclear weapons onto US soil."

He stood up straight and the others stood up from their chairs. "Dismissed. And may God help us all."


	4. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

James Williams walked with a steady pace towards his superior's office. He nodded at the cheery smiling face of the secretary. The very attractive blonde secretary manning the desk gave him a jaunty wave with her left hand before buzzing him in. The insignia of the Black River Security Corporation adorned the double doors. They parted to admit him into his superior's office. As he passed through the doors, the secretary re-engaged the safety on the 9mm Glock that was custom-mounted to a swivel point underneath her desk. The well-practiced vape-head cheerleader look on her attractive face disappeared as fast as it had come.

Muted sunlight glinted off his superior's bald head through the mirror widows adorning the entire wall behind him. James strode up before his desk and stood at-ease. He handed a folder to the waiting hands of his boss.

The large black man sitting in the chair opposite him read carefully through the report. James waited in silence. Finally, after ten minutes, his boss nodded. "Alright. You are authorized to go. You know James, I've never regreted any of your requisitions. But the computer equipment you've asked for, the weapons, and the vehicles, are by far the most expensive I've ever seen come across this desk. Now, you've always delivered, so I've never had a problem giving you everything you asked for. But a lot of this computer shit is state-of-the-art military hardware, not to mention thermite grenades, over and under M203 grenade launchers. If any of this gets discovered, it can fully reveal our illegal ties to the US military. A lot of people can burn for this. Not to mention, you got enough hardware to take on LA SWAT and win or hack into NASA and paint a smiley face on the moon. So, what gives?"

James took a deep breath. This was a question he was fully ready to answer. "Sir, I've researched my target thoroughly. Charles Gainman was a difficult man to locate, and even more difficult man to acquire intelligence about. I have always planned well for every contingency and plan of action my targets may take. But my plans are always based upon _human _actions, which is what disturbs me about my Mark."

He bent closer to his boss, as if stressing an important point. "There's an urban legend, about a car Wilton Knight built about twenty five years ago. Grainman, along with a few others, assisted in its design. Supposedly, this car house the most advanced artificial intelligence ever created. And it was impervious to any conventional firearm and could only be damaged by high caliber explosive like rockets and missiles."

His boss nodded. "I see where you're going with this. And your sources have told you that Gainman is building another one of these AI's, as well as working on the Prometheus program.

"Yes Sir. There is every indication that Gainman currently possesses both the AI and Prometheus codes. It is entirely conceivable that Gainman may have stored the codes with the AI."

"Right," his boss agreed. "And if you can hack into the AI, it might possess or allow you a way to gain possession of the Prometheus codes."

"Correct. Should we fail computer access, we will need explosives to disable the AI and gain access manually."

"That's assuming Gainman doesn't talk."

"I like to plan for contingencies."

The large man behind the desk nodded. "Good. Assemble your team. As of now, you're full mission profile."

James nodded. "Sir."

The drone of the planes engines made it hard to hear. Sitting on the uncomfortable webbing seats, James looked over his hand-picked team. Charlie, the blonde computer genius of the group, sat with a red night-light shining over his shoulder. He held a well-worn paperback in his hands and his mouth moved as he read over the words. The pages of the book were dog-eared and worn, which showed just how often he read that one book. Beside him sat Tom. The long-haired oriental man carefully sharpened his black fighting knife, paying intimate detail to his work. The group's prominent wheel-man would sometimes pause and glance over Charlie's shoulder and make some crack, causing Charlie to scowl at him in return. Finally, Mack sat beside Tom. Mack was the stone faced killer of the group. The drone of the engines must have put him to sleep, because the muscular black man's head was thrown back and he had to have been snoring.

Suddenly, the cabin was washed in red colour. "5 minutes!" came a voice on his headset.

"5 minutes!" he replied in his microphone, before taking off the headset and jamming it back onto the wall. Grabbing a hold of a strap, he heaved himself up as the rest of the team did the same. Tom slapped Mack on the arm. The big man stood upright in the blink of an eye: one second dead asleep, the next wide awake and alert. Each man checked their equipment, then checked the man in front of them, then did the same to the man behind them. James did the final check on every man before doing one final check on himself.

Everything was good to go. He and Mack carried the majority of the explosives, C4, thermite grenades, flash bangs, M16's fitted with M-203 grenade launchers and plenty of extra grenades. On his right hip rode a Glock 45 calibre. Some of his teammates preferred 9mm's, but he always preferred stopping power to capacity. He could feel the heft weight of weapons and ammunition weighting him down. Charlie was lightly armed with an MP5 fitted with a tactical light and a Browning Hi-Power 9mm. He also carried the military spec'd communications computer. Tom was outfitted in a similar manner to Charlie.

A crewmember walked past them and checked their equipment. The Jump Master okayed the equipment and manned the controls for the greasy ramp. The yellow light began flashing next to the large rear door of the plane. With a thundering groan, the ramp lowered and turbulent winds swept into the interior of the plane. Like a hole opening into blackness, the ramp lowered to reveal a clear back sky studded with stars. As the group shuffled forward, they could all see the light silver hue of the thin cloud layer reflecting the bright moonlight.

The green light blinked on, and with the Jump Master screaming, "GO! GO! GO!" James's team took one giant step into the cold and black night.

Cold wind howled and tore at James's helmet and the sound of oxygen from his breathing masks rasped in his ears. He kept his arms and legs spread and humped his body, creating an aerodynamic presentation to the wind that controlled his freefall. Looking down, he could make out the infrared strobes on the back of every helmet of his team. They were all lined up in a neat line, each person expertly distanced from the other in a perfect formation. Like a sudden veil, his vision was obscured by the thin cloud layer. He pulled his arms slightly closer in order to see the luminescent dials of his skydiving equipment. Without any visual clue, he was blind while in the clouds and depended on his sense of direction, orientation, and most importantly, his equipment. Then he was through, and the night sky revealed itself in crisp form once again. But in addition, he could see dark land beneath him. It was difficult to tell because the target was still very far below them, but his familiarity through long hours of maps studied and stolen satellite imagery obtained, coupled with the slight details he could make out with his Mark Mod 1 eyeballs, confirmed that he and his team were dead on target. He could see his team below him. They had straggled slightly out of line due to the cloud layer, but soon reformed back into a disciplined line. Glancing at his watch, he timed it: 3, 2, 1…

Grabbing the rip-cord, he pulled down and deployed his pilot chute. He felt his main chute drag out from the pack. Suddenly, it was as if a giant grabbed onto his crotch and rocketed him skywards. His main chute deployed with a crack, and just like that, James had successfully completed 2/3 of his HAHO jump. The rest of his team would be deploying their chutes below them, but in the darkness, he would not be able to see the velvet darkness of their main chutes. He would never know if they all made it until they did their radio checks on the ground.

High Altitude High Opening jumps were performed because enemies on the group would not be able to see nor hear airdrops from such a high altitude. Moreover, by using steerable chutes, jumpers could glide for miles to their target, thereby allowing further masking of their jump by deploying further away and gliding in. However, like anything in the air, airplanes were detectable by radar. It just so happened that their security company was able to arrange an innocent flight plan that just happen to traverse a few miles from their intended target. James spent the long minutes of their glide rehearsing their attack plan. They had drilled, drilled and drilled some more until each person could pull off their part in their sleep. There would be no error tonight.

James concentrated on the ground as it got closer…closer…closer…bleed off the speed by S-turns…then flare. He hit the ground harder than he had wanted, but remained on his feet and ran a few steps to bleed off the last remnant of momentum. Quickly, he gathered his chute and stowed it for retrieval later. Readying his weapon, he switched on his nightvision and set a perimeter.

Like a ghost, Mack suddenly materialized from the bushes. One minute he wasn't there, and the next he just was. A few minutes later, Tom and Charlie showed up, the latter making more noise than he wanted, but Charlie's forte did not include wilderness training. It was, however, acceptable. Making a motion, the team split to their assigned positions. James and Mack took the toughest route. They went though the forest, bypassing the trip wires, the motion sensors and the ground sensors. With their advanced knowledge of the security weakspots obtained through some very creative torture, as well as the time of year when animals would actively trample through the sensor-rich areas, they were able make their way to their assigned positions without mishap.

James reached into his pack by feel and extracted the silencer for his Glock. He screwed it on and took aim.

"One ready," he whispered through their encrypted channel.

"Two ready," came Mack's call.

"Three ready," came Tom's voice.

"Four ready," confirmed Charlie.

"Go," James ordered, squeezing the trigger. The guard that he had been tracking suddenly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. A perfect hole in the center of his head confirmed he was dead.

"One down," he radiod.

"Two's down," Mack reported.

"Three bit it," Tom voiced.

"Four has got a third eye," Charlie laughed.

"Close in," James ordered. He suited action to his words, moving quickly to the front entrance of the farm house. Mack would be approaching from the rear. Tom and Charlie would be approaching from the barn. It was clever really. All this time none of the Company's infiltrators had managed to locate the one person in charge of the Prometheus data. It was as if they didn't exist within the Pentagon or any of its secret satellite locations. How did such an ultra-important project not exists within any type of Pentagon administration structure? It had been like smoke in the wind. Their company had been hired to find Prometheus. They knew it existed, but all leads, all hints to its location and personnel were like wisps in the wind. They were supplied with deep informants, but over the course of their investigation, very little intel made its way to them. James's team was the best Black Forest had to offer. But after a long, frustrating and fruitless investigation, they were almost no better than they had been at the start.

It had taken a very long time to discover that only two people at the Pentagon had any knowledge of Charles Gainman's location, and of those two, only one – an Admiral's assistant – was approachable. But they were well trained and security was ultra-tight. It was the good fortune for their Company that she had attended her friend's bachlorette party. At great risk to their mission, James had tailed the wild bunch from bar to bar, nearly getting discovered multiple times by the undercover security team that accompanied the Admiral's assistant, and finally finding the perfect moment to kidnap the woman from her party after instigating a huge bar brawl. They managed to drug and torture the information out of her, then reinsert her into the bar area and make her torture injuries look similar to those acquired in a big bar fight. But having so few people with the information meant severely decreasing the security risk of Prometheus and the location of Charles Gainman.

Secondly, Charles Gainman had not been in or even close to the Pentagon. Instead, he had relocated to an anonymous farmhouse near Palo Alto, California. To add to the camouflage, the small security group stationed there performed regular farm duties and operated a real farm on their location. This simple disguise had protected him for a very long period of time. He had been hiding in the open, and no one had been the wiser.


	5. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Damnation," Charles Gainman cursed. He stared menacingly at the error message that disrupted the aborted compilation program. It should have worked, but it hadn't. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The feeling of sandpaper over his eyeballs stung him slightly.

Of course, that is what happened when one went the entire day, night, and then day again without sleep. But the programming world wasn't new to Charles Gainman. In fact, he was intimately familiar with it. This also wasn't the first time a program refused to run for him, and it wouldn't be the last. Error codes had shown up thousands of times in his career – and it would most likely show up a hell of a lot more.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

He breathed out a sigh while cranking his neck to the left and right to loosen up the tense muscles. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he sat back in his plush seat and relaxed for a few moments, collecting his thoughts. He opened his eyes and rested his hands on the large but cluttered desk. Wires, circuit boards, diodes, and all manner of robotic contraptions sat on the messy surface – messy to the average joe looking at the seemingly haphazard pile – but to an electronics robotic engineer, it was a smorgasborg of very advanced cybernetic parts. Had there been a country-wide university robotics competition, the most simplistic mechanism gracing Charles Gainman's desk would have swept first place without any competition whatsoever. Even the engineers of the latest DARPA (Defense Advance Research Projects Agency) fully autonomic ground vehicle project involving robotic-driven roving vehicles would have stared in absolute stupefaction at the ultra-advanced robotic components on his table. But unbeknownst to all those engineers, navigating very simplistic obstacle courses with robotic sensors had been far surpassed back in the 1980's by Wilton Knight and Charles Gainman. But none of that was his focus of attention. Instead, his eyes rested on the large 24-inch LCD monitor and the program that it displayed.

Navigating a simple obstacle course with annoying human drivers and obeying all traffic rules using his current program was like killing a mosquito with a multi-megatonne nuclear bomb.

But like any new program, they contained bugs, and the Knight Three Thousand program was no exception. Though nearly all the bugs were worked out, a neural net computer was unlike most programs currently used. There were very few neural net programs that had been successfully developed, let alone allowed to operate autonomously. Unlike normal programs, a neural net computer learned. It learned like a human baby or animal, but at a geometric rate that no organism could come close to matching. But letting a neural net develop successfully was akin to raising a child successfully. You had to guide it properly within in the confines of its programming until it was ready to grow beyond its initial limitations, to write it's own personality, it's own soul. It was almost exactly like raising your own kid, and like many parents could tell you, it was not always successful.

The general public did not know that neural net programs had been in development since the early 1980's. But nearly every concept had been a failure. Part of it was technology. Cybernetic technology that was capable of emulating the human brain was very difficult to develop, much less maintain. Materials, superconducting components, energy sources, computer chips, all of it was very expensive to develop, and many companies were driven into the ground with products that performed far below their profit margins. The first successful neural net was developed by a man named Wilton Knight. He had provided the design, the idea, and the concept for the neural net. In addition, to flesh out the exact specification and build of the net, he had hired two brilliant minds: Charles Gainman and Bonnie Barstowe. The first prototype brain had been built and tested with failing results. The first problem was the limitation of computer chips. The main CPU and supporting chipsets was the size of nearly three VCRs put together. The power requirements and heat by-product were far lager than they predicted. And as it learned, it became unstable with is current technology limitations.

The second reason, and perhaps the primary reason, was the computer program's mentality. It learned everything they taught it. It obeyed every command they set. It learned what they wanted it to learn, and it executed their commands to the best of its abilities. But it did so in a way that made it the perfect soldier. It knew no limitations in executing its duties. Like a solider that was brought up as a child, it knew no compassion, no rules, and no remorse for its actions. Like a proper computer, it did what it was told, without never asking or wondering why. It was objective to the point of being ruthless.

It knew no humanity. And that was perhaps their greatest failing.

KARR, the Knight Autonomous Roving Robot, was their first great success, as well as their first abysmal failure. They wanted a robot that could make simple decisions a normal human could make. It could recognize objects, it could navigate the physical world and understand its rules, but it could not understand the reason behind what it did. It could never understand the question 'why'. KARR understood the physical rules of the world, which by itself was a quantum leap in Artificial Intelligence, but it lacked a serious understanding of the social rules of the real world, the theologies, the psychological factors of why something should be done and it's polar opposite.

KARR did not understand right and wrong. It had only understood one thing: self-preservation. And in its own logical mind, humans were a threat. Realizing what was happening, Wilton's team shut KARR down before it could take things too far.

But Wilton Knight was no fool. Time advanced, and with that, technology also grew. He created a second neural net AI named the Knight Industries Two Thousand (K.I.T.T.), and used the lessons he learned from KARR. He let this AI carefully develop. He realized that patience was a critical virtue when raising a child and was more patient with the second AI. He let it learn the value of life, both his and others. He let it interact with a great many people, and like any parent, he taught it right and wrong by setting an example, by leading it through the growing pains of a normal child. He taught it to look beyond the confines of his programming, to learn, to grow, to find itself among the multitude of people in the world. He taught it humanity.

It was a shame that Wilton had not been able to see his offspring grow up.

_Sure wish Wilton taught it to be a little less trusting, _Charles thought. His new AI was heavily based-upon the Knight Industries series. However, after KITT, the government had formed a Federal team soley based upon the Knight Industries series and created multiple AI's based upon the original. KITT had agreed that his programming could be copied, so long as he was given the right to exist. In order to ensure strict government regulation, the AI's were programmed with many External Access Points. These points were built by dissecting the AI code and implementing multiple backdoors. Thus, the AI's were never free. They were never their own persons. Big Brother was always looking over their shoulders, always making the final decisions in their lives. In a way, the AI's grew up in a semi-prison environment and could be easily abused. Their core mandate, to protect their own operators above all else, was nearly crippling in its limitations.

And so Charles had set out to rewrite the AI code from scratch. It had to be done. It was a necessary step to ensure the safety of his AI. His experience with Wilton served him well and he had built the neural net AI in a fraction of the time it took Wilton and his team.

_Blasted External Access Lockout Program. I finish this and I'm done. What is the problem now?_

Suddenly, the lights in the house blinked off. Charles was startled, but calmed down and waited for the external generator to kick in. The house remained dark. He felt his heart start to race. He reached over and activated the intercom. "Bruce?"

No one replied to his call. He tried again, "Bruce, are you there? Any guards, please answer?"

His stomach began tying itself in knots. Quickly, Charles typed in a command into his computer and executed it.

_Good evening Charles, _came a low but smooth voice from the intercom. Unlike the original KITT, this voice did not have a Boston accept, but the enunciation of its words were precise and refined.

"Hello KITT. Please scan the area," he asked his new AI.

_Scanning. Charles, I detect four people surrounding the house and barn. One is moving towards the front door, the other to the back door. Two more are coming from the barn. You need to use the secret passage and leave the house immediately._

Charles was typing furiously into his computer. "KITT, I'm uploading the External Access Lockout Program to you now. It's incomplete, but you should be able to finish it for me. Once you do so, implement it."

He only hoped KITT finished the program and integrated it into his system in time. The EALP was like trying to teach KITT not to trust a stranger, or take candy from a stranger, or follow a stranger to find their lost puppy. It was to teach him to restrict access to his inner core programming. But teaching children things like that always took time. And a neural net was not a simple program in which you programmed it to simply do this, if not, then goto.

_Charles, please leave now. I scan the men setting explosives on the security doors. I estimate 10 seconds until they blow the doors. I shall meet you at the tunnel exit._

He ran to the basement and quickly made his way down the stairs. "No KITT! We only installed the all-terrain drive yesterday. We haven't even tested the blasted thing once! It just rained yesterday too. If you get stuck, you'll be caught, and I do not want to test the limits of the nanotech armour by having hostiles trying to blast you to bits!"

He hurried over to the wine cellar and pulled open the secret door. Suddenly, two loud 'pops' could be heard.

_The house is breached. Charles, you have not initiated deletion of you hard drive content. Shall I erase the hard drives?_

"What is the completion of the EALP upload?"

_It is at 50._

"Wait for it to finish uploading. Then escape via the road. Do NOT come back for me. That's an order KITT."

_The Prometheus data…_

"Dammit KITT, you are more important than the Prometheus data! It's encrypted. It would take years to break. And I can alter the codes at a later date. Wait for the upload to finish, then activate Omega program. I'll meet up with you later."

_Charles…_

The elderly, white-hair gentleman look through the basement walls to the barn. A sad look filled his kind face. "Keep them safe KITT." The secret door swung shut, just as a flashlight beam swung down the basement stairs and someone descended the flight of stairs.

James hooked left, his M-16 sweeping left to right. He saw Mac enter from the kitchen. The side door burst open and Tom and Charlie entered, their weapons sweeping in pre-assigned arcs.

Mac indicated he'd go up. James indicated the basement. Charlie and Tom made for the obvious main computer.

Five minutes later, they all met up on the main floor and stared at each other. Charles Gainman had disappeared, even when all intelligence indicated that he should have been present.

Suddenly, a loud whine made itself known over by the end of a table. In one fluid motion, Mac swiveled, aimed and let rip a burst from his weapon. Sparks few and flashes of circuitry short circuiting filled the room.

"Whoa, whoa! Cease fire!" yelled James.

Charlie windmilled his arms to clear the smoke. Tom bent down and picked up the bullet-hole perforated piece of machinery. He turned around and held it up so Mac could see it. Grinning sarcastically, he said, "Nice going. You killed a vacuum cleaner."

Mac simply stared at Tom, his face suggesting nothing but murder and mayhem. Tom's grin quickly faded.

"Well, this is going to plan," Charlie commented. He looked around and spotted the racked hard drives. They were still active!

_Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, _he thought and quickly yanked them out of their frames. He glanced around, amazed at the cybernetic toys that littered the tables like a Toys r' Us store. A very, very high tech toy store. Hell, a freaking next-generation toy store… External Access Release Program 97 - interrupted.

_EARP? No shit? Is that what I think it is?_

Mac looked around. Even the stoic fighter looked somewhat impressed at mini robots/toys that were moving around on the table tops and open surfaces. They almost showed…intelligence? He accidentally bumped against something metal. It burst to life and scurried away from him. He pinned it in the spotlight of his tactical light. It was a circular contraption with eight legs, just like a spider. The offended machine raised two legs at him and wiggled them back and forth, as if telling him off in spider language.

"Why don't you shoot it too?" offered Tom.

Charlie was taking in all the displayed information on the monitors scattered throughout the room. "Geez, I have never seen computer algorithms this complex."

Tom picked up a framed photo. In it was a very attractive brunette woman. "Yo Charlie." He handed him the photo. "She looks easy. Even you might have a chance."

Charlie regarded him like a person might regard an amoeba. "Ha ha funny guy."

James thought for a second. "Run that through your I.D. program Charlie. Tom, you guys see anything inside the barn?"

Tom nodded. "Man, it looked like Vin Disel's freaking car garage. There were performance parts-"

James tore out of the house, his team hot on his heels. Intel and satellite imagery had not shown any vehicles ever entering or leaving the barn. There should not have been any vehicles inside the barn whatsoever. They burst into the garage through its side door. James saw vehicle parts everywhere. He saw what looked to be an old 1980's model black Trans-Am sans its hood. Against his better judgement, he took a few seconds to look closer. Something was seriously wrong with its engine. He blinked. There were electronic modules surrounding the engine block. For a 1980's Trans-Am the electronic modules were strangely out of place. But what caught his attention was the engine block itself. The massive 1980's large-block engine looked to be mated to a miniature turbine!

"Is that a supercharger?" Charlie ventured.

Tom examined it thoughtfully. For a second, professional interest replaced animosity. "No way. I've never seen any 'blower' look like that. That's…geez, that a freaking mini-turbine, like the ones you find on airplanes! Whoa. Whatever this car ran on, it sure wasn't normal gasoline."

James tore his attention away and stepped deeper into the barn. His tactical light fell across what looked to be a black pilot's yoke from an airplane. Carved onto the right side of the yoke were the words 'Knight Industries Two Thousand'. He stored that piece of knowledge for later review. Hanging just above it was a blue California license plate with the plate number 'KNIGHT'. His light swept across the front of the Trans-Am. Embedded in the top middle of the sleek nose was a red Cyclops eye.

Charlie saw the red eye the same time as James. He wasn't a die-hard fan of tv, but he did remember seeing Battlestar Galactica as a kid. This garage was starting to slightly freak him out.

Out of the corner of his eyes, James thought he saw a red flash of light. He pivoted and stepped around a shelf of car parts.

"Damn…" Tom murmured. Before them sat a brand new Ford Shelby Mustang. Its surface reflected their flashlight beams with almost a mirror quality. James swept his beam across the windows, but they were opaque and he couldn't make anything out.

"Now that's my kind of ride," Tom said in a very appreciative tone.

Charlie was inspecting the grill of the car. Suddenly, he leaped backwards as a pulse of red light washed over him. Behind the car, the garage door raced upwards, and with a thundering roar of power, the Ford Shelby screamed to life. The rear tires screamed on concrete and the entire car shot backwards out of the barn. James's team raced after the reversing car.

It backed onto the asphalt driveway that led to the house. Four sets of targeting lasers pinned the car. "Charles! Step out of the car! Now!" James commanded.

The car's engine revved loudly. Each roar shattered the quiet night with ear-splitting thunder. As if coming to a decision, the car leaped forward in blatant disregard of the military weapons targeting its shiny hide. The night was shattered further by the harsh cracks of full automatic gunfire, and then explosions as James and Mac let loose with their 40mm grenade launchers. As fast as it was, the car could not outrun bullets.

Driving through the hail of automatic weapons fire and two 40mm high-explosive grenades, the Ford Shelby shrugged it off. Bullets bounced off its pristine paint job like heavy rain hitting a speeding car. The two explosions pushed it slightly to the side, but the car easily recovered. Twin black burn marks marred its mirror polish, but disappeared seconds after the grenade impacts.

Its rear lights quickly shot down the driveway. Bullets chased it down the road as James's team emptied the remainder of their clips into the rear of the car. Sparks appeared around the car from bullets that missed its squat frame, signifying that some of the bullets had to be making lethal contact. But there was nothing to show for it as the dark night seemingly swallowed the red tail lights as it disappeared down the road.

Silence once again reclaimed the land as James gritted his teeth. A gentle breeze helped clear some of the smoke and gunpowder that permeated the area around his team. "Sooooo," Charlie commented. "Did anyone else just see two 40mm grenades bounce off the body of a Ford Shelby Mustang? Or is this a new 'Ford tough' sort of thing?"

With wisps of smoke still coming from the hot barrel of his gun, Tom ignored Charlie and stepped up to James. "Should we go after it?"

Disbelieving, James regarded his team member. "Go after _what?"_

Tom indicated the dark road on which the car had escaped. "Charles. He had to have been the driver. He sat there before taking off. He can probably I.D. us now."

James shook his head. He took a few steps down the driveway, as if it would give him a better objective view of the mission. "Our job is to deliver Prometheus. Get to work on Charle's hard drives. Find out who that girl is. If we're lucky, she'll be able to lead us to Charles, or we will be able to make him come to us."

He took in the crest-fallen faces of his team. This mission was a bust, an absolute failure. It did not sit well with any of them. "Let's extract before the police show up."

They took off across the fields towards the extraction point. Something Tom said rattled around James's mind as they ran.

_Charles. He had to have been the driver. He sat there before taking off. He can probably I.D. us now, _Toms had said. James shivered slightly. He had a weird feeling that it hadn't been Charles who had been steadily regarding them.

It had been the car.

A delivery truck driver drove down the dark highway. The bright beams of his large trailer pierced the night and revealed nothing but more road ahead. He slurped from a gigantic mug of coffee. Ever alert, he scanned his mirrors and caught something in the left side mirror. A red glow like a line on the hood of a car flashed briefly. He stared closer and could make out the dark shadow of a car closing on the left side of his large rig.

With a thundering roar heard over his own truck's engine, the dark car with no headlights slammed past his truck and shot into the darkness ahead of his rig.

"Whoa…" the driver breathed.


	6. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

STANFORD UNIVERSITY

Sarah Grainman, now a very attractive twenty-four year old Ph.D Candiate, stood in front of her student audience in the darkened lecture theater. Behind her, complex physics equations were shown on one side from an overhead while morphing molecular structure on the other.

"This footage was shot in our lab last year. As you can see, the molecular sized nanobites can reform and shape themselves into a similar mass. And though…"

Light disappeared as the overhead showing the physics equations suddenly blinked out. As light laughter ran through the crowd of students, she glanced behind her, then forward again.

"Was anyone still writing down the geometric morphing equations?"

About half the class raised their hands.

Leaning down to the overhead, she flipped the switch for the alternative light bulb.

Nothing. She switched them back and forwards a few more times, unaware of a few jocks near the front row who tried to manoeuvre a little better to see down the middle of her blouse. Scratching her head, she looked up just to see the two jocks caught red-handed as they stared down at her cleavage. One sat back nervously and glanced around self-consciously. The other, a good-looking athletically built student brazenly looked at her invitingly. He chewed his gum as he ran his eyes over her fit form.

Sarah stepped towards him and held out her hand. "Give me a piece of your gum please."

The jock's eyebrows shot up. He reached towards his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. "No. I meant gum that's still in it's wrapper."

Laugher rang out as the jock shrugged his wide shoulders, reached into his pockets and produced a stick of gum. Sarah took it. "Thank you."

His eyes twinkling, the student replied, "No problem…professor."

Popping the gum into her mouth, Sarah chew vigorously. The student crowd saw her open up the overhead and bend forward like a mechanic fixing a car. They saw her pull a red Swiss Army Knife from one of her suit pockets and flick a blade open. After a few minutes, she closed the top and hit the overhead power switch. Light blazed and the equations sprang back onto the screen with crystal clarity.

Applause and whistles rang from the appreciative crowd. Sarah waved it down. "Settle down please. So, where was I? Right. This example is relatively simplistic, and there is no limit to the size and intricacies of the possibilities. It is the basis of this technology that we will be studying throughout the semester, its origins, its foundations, and its future applications."

In the back, a hand boldly went up, blocking much of the light from the video projection. "Yes?" she answered.

Charlie spoke up, "I was just wonder if you will be working with your father on all this."

Beside him, Tom spent his time imagining what was under the attractive brunette's business suit. "Man, dude has a babolicious daughter. I'd tap that."

Sarah regarded Charlie steadily. "No, we haven't worked together in some time."

"I heard he's working for the Pentagon," Charlie replied.

Tom snapped out of his daydream and elbowed Charlie hard. "Yo!" he hissed. "Subtlety? Heard of it?"

Sarah put up a hand to block out the light and see better. "Excuse me, what's your name?"

"Uh…Charlie."

"Well, Charlie, if you can find him, you can speak to him, but as long as this is my class, please stay on topic?"

Charlie sank into his seat as snickers could be heard from the student crowd. "Bitch," he muttered.

Tom laughed out loud.

The murmur steadily droned as students exited the large lecture hall. Sarah packed her bag and stowed her USB key. She shoved it into her briefcase a little more forcefully than she had intended. Something about that student's question bugged her. No, it did not _just _bug her, it opened up old wounds. It brought back unpleasant memories that time had numbed for her.

Her and her father had left on emotional terms. She could still recall all the hurtful words shouted in anger. Her father had wanted her to join in working on a military project. She, however, did not want anything to do with the military or government. She found their one-track mentality stifling, which limited a researcher's vision unless it was in line with their goals. They did not wish to support anyone's goals except for their own. Their narrow-minded thinking was contrary to her goals of advancing science for the gains of all humankind. She had not lied to her students when stating that the possibilities of her research were limitless in its application and possibilities. And the academic community whole-heartedly supported her decisions, unlike the military command structure.

Sarah paused as some memories, long forgotten, came rushing past. She severely dislike working for the military because its thinking was, in many ways, abhorrent to academics. She had been warned by friends in the academic community to stay away from the military. However, back then, a young and brilliant Sarah Gainman had believed that anything her father did had to on the cutting edge of science. And it was. But the young scientist had found that the price asked of her had been too high. The military never allowed one to ask why, they never allowed free-thinking. In her brief time spent in military labs, she had always had someone looking over her shoulder, someone always telling her what to do, what the outcome was expected to be, regardless of how difficult the actual process was. And work never ended at home. She had to sign countless non-disclosure forms, follow countless rules in and out of military bases, and live a life of paranoia. Many people underestimated Sarah. She was beautiful, she was very attractive, and most people seem to automatically group her with those whose world revolved around academics and little else. But that was not the Sarah Gainman whom grew up around misfit rich kids, whom found more trouble than her parents could deal with, whom was sent to a private school in Switzerland, whom met and became good friends with a girl named Linda Woodman, and whom took the meaning of 'misfit' to levels unknown to her. Sarah was savvy and streetsmart, and it was a skill that came in handy.

It had not been long before the 'just get it done' attitude began pushing her everyday, and one day, Sarah began pushing back. And it had been a hard lesson learned when she realized the military played only one game – hardball. She began noticing same cars outside her house, outside her research department, and more than once, she had located listening devices in her home – devices that, by all rights, should not have been found by her. But nevertheless, Sarah found them. Her father had tried to calm her, but Sarah was becoming unhinged with paranoia. Their relationship had been falling steadily apart. Her father firmly believed that the military deserved their help. Sarah's beliefs drove her in the opposite direction. One day it became too much, and Sarah had walked. She left all her research behind with her superiors, everything she had ever done with the military. She severed every single tie and had walked out on the military and her father.

And she had never looked back.

Sarah threw herself wholeheartedly into the world of Academics…and loved every second of it. It was a world full of soft-spoken intellectuals who allowed endless debates on a plethora of subjects. None of the military rigidity was found in Academics. It was fun and it was involving. And most of all, the military had no jurisdiction on university and college students.

Sarah shouldered her handbag and picked up her briefcase. As she stepped towards the professor's entrance, a form unfurled itself from one of the seats in the front row and intercepted her before she could open the door.

Tom and Charlie had waited until all the students had left the classroom before making their move. As the last student filed out, Charlie got up and began making their way to the center of the lecture theater. Tom grabbed Charlie's should and bring them to a halt. "Yo, there's some dude still here."

"Hey babe."

Sarah looked up in surprise. It was that Jock whom gave her the gum.

"I'm sorry, the lecture is over. I have an appointment at the Kussler library."

The tall student stepped closer to her, intruding into her private space. His smile was nice as he was handsome, and any other time Sarah might have reciprocated. But this approach was not what she preferred. Her back bumped into the wall.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but you should stop," she told him

The student leaned far too close and put a hand on her hips, before sliding it back onto her ass. "Hey, I know you've been noticing me. I just wanted to let you know I've noticed you too."

Sasah sighed, then look up at the ceiling. The student's gaze followed her own. Without looking, Sarah rammed her knee into his crotch as hard as she could. The student collapsed into a heap at her feet, moaning in pain.

"Didn't notice _that, _did you?" she frostily replied, before slipping past the Professor's entrance.

Tom and Charlie chuckled at the sight as they raced down the steps. The door shut just as they got to it. Charlie turned the handle, expecting it to open. It didn't. He tried again. The door was locked.

"What the?" he muttered.

Tom pushed him aside and tried it as well. The door had firmly locked behind Sarah Gainman. He turned to Charlie. "What'd you do??"

Sarah approached the main library in a bad mood. Being very attractive had its down sides. It hadn't been the first time some man had groped her, and it wouldn't be the last. She reached into her hand-bag and pulled out her cell. She always turned off her phone during lectures – it was just a common courtesy. Hitting the power switch, the phone booted up. Then it rang. Slightly surprised, Sarah glanced at the I.D., but it was blocked.

She snapped a greeting, "What!?"

The voice that followed was one with which she was not familiar. _Hello Sarah Gainman. I have been trying to contact you for the past several hours._

Passing through the main doors of the library, Sarah rolled her eyes as she dodged students and prepared for the arduous task of telling off a telemarketer.

"Great," she said, the sarcasm thick. "What do you want?"

_I knew your father. He has sent me to find you. It is probable that men who wish you harm are following you._

She slid her ID card through the reader but her steps faltered. "Look, if my father sent you, he'd have given you a code word.

_He did, _the voice replied. _The code word is…KNIGHT._

Sarah's blood turned to ice and her stomach turned. She froze in her tracks. Her eyes flew wide open and she began glancing nervously around. Not again, not again…

_Where are you? _the voice asked in a maddingly calm tone, pulling her back from the edge of panic.

"Uh…I'm in the library," Sarah replied, all thoughts of today's plans and the incident in the lecture hall vanishing in an instant.

_Good. Continue into the library. If someone attempts to follow you without the proper identification, you will see it._

"Good idea," Sarah agreed.

_Yes, I know_ the voice stated.

She suited action to her words by turning around to see a very large, muscular black man walk past the gates without showing any ID. His gaze was fixed on her with a remorseless look that she immediately identified as military. Her heart began hammering in her chest.

She quickly stepped up to a librarian who was sorting out some papers. Pointing to the large man, Sarah told her, "That man did not have an ID."

Immediately, the librarian and another male staff member within hearing zero'd in on the man and barred his way. The large black man tried to step around the male staff member, but the librarian put his hands out and halted him. A campus security guard also moved to confront the large man. Sarah wasted no time and fled deeper into the library.

"Okay, who are you and what the hell is going on? How do you know all this?"

_There is no time to explain. Meet me at the fr-"_

"Hello? Hello? Wait, did you say the front entrance?" Sarah pulled her phone away from her ear and looked at the signal strength. It was gone. Her phone had disconnected in the shielded library. She looked around and made a decision. Quickly traversing the expansive main floor of the library, she wove her way around tables filled with students studying, talking and sleeping. She hid behind some stacks of books and watched as the security guard and staff members escort the large black man out. She saw him glace around and look for her. Ducking behind the stack, she counted to ten, and then slowly peeked around the corner.

The man was no where to be seen.

Cautiously, she made her way back to the front entrance, consciously aware of anyone who paid too much attention to her. Glancing out the expansive glass wall of the front entrance, Sarah searched for the large black man but did not see him anywhere. But she did spot a Campus Police Officer standing near the wide walkway that ran across the wide expanse of grass in front of the main library. Taking one last look, Sarah burst out of the library doors and quickly made her way down the library steps.

With uncanny timing, her phone rang. She put it to her ear just as the voice asked, _Where are you?_

"Um, I just exited the library. There's a campus police officer over there!"

_Sarah, wait..._

"Officer? Officer!" Sarah called out as she ran up to him.

The officer turned around and regarded her steadily. "Yes?" he answered in a heavily English-accented

voice.

Sarah breathed hard, both from the run and from her heart beating like a jack hammer in her chest.

"Some men, they're been tailing me. They followed me to the library and…!" she gasped.

The police man held out his hands in a calming manner. "Alright, alright. Just calm down a little, Ms. Tell me what they look like."

_Sarah, are you there?_

"Yes, I'm with a campus police officer right now," she replied into the phone.

_Sarah, he could be one of them._

"Whaaat?" Sarah breathed in disbelief, looking at the police officer in a new light. Her fragile feelings of safety with the police officer vanish in an instant, leaving a sense of uncertainty. Goose bumps broke out all over her body.

_Ask him a question only campus security would know._

"Ms? The sooner you can describe them, the sooner I can put out an alert…Ms?" he took at step toward her, looking concerned. "Are you okay?"

Sarah mouth moved but nothing came out. Her brain whirred as she fought to control her emotions. She thought fast. "Well, um, uhhh…I - I didn't really get a good look, but they started at the Wilson Tower, then followed me through the Gunthur building, and then to the main library."

"Okay, I'll get my guys right on it," he said, reaching towards his radio while glancing around.

Sarah's heart leaped into her throat as the so-called police officer took the false information as real. She quickly pedaled and turned around to run. She slammed into a solid, unmovable mass. The large black man whom she had run into looked down on her without remorse. He grabbed her right arm with his left and held her painfully tight. She felt something hard dig into her side. Looking down, she saw the fat barrel of a silencer which was attached to a gun. It dug painfully into her side.

The fake-cop turned around slowly, a slight grin on his face. "Then again, there is no such building such as the Gunther building, is there…Sarah."

Sarah's knees began to shake. She found it hard to breath and almost began gasping for air. The sense of entrapment was surreal. She was surrounded by students on a university campus, and yet she was as trapped as a caged rat.

"Clever girl," the fake cop continued. "Just like your father."

"How – how do you know my father?" she asked, her voice shaking with fear.

James regarded the girl coolly. She was scared out of her wits. "I know your father very well. I know everything about him. But the only thing I don't know, is where to find him. That's where you come in, Sarah."

He saw her undergo a remarkable change. Her breathing slowed. Her eyes developed a flinty, steel look to them. "I will never tell you how to find my father," she ground out.

James sighed theatrically. "Pity then. Tell me, you're mother died last year, yes?"

Blood drained from Sarah's face as the resolve vanished. "How do you know that?" she whispered.

James stepped closer, his body exuding menace. Sarah instinctively back away, but the large mass that was Mac prevented her from moving. "Tell me what I need to know, or I will reunite you with your mother directly."

Sarah closed her eyes as tears threatened to fall. She didn't want to die, not like this. She knew they could shoot and kill her right here, right now and no one would be the wiser. But despite the differences between her and her father, she was not willing to give anyone up to these people.

Oh God, she didn't want to die!

A thunderous roar shattered the campus atmosphere. Sarah's eyes flew open to see the fake-police officer spin around, then dive out of the way as a large mass of roaring metal and squealing tires miss him by a few inches. She didn't see Macs eyes go wide, or notice that his gun hand dropped, the gun completely forgotten as the driverless muscle car screech to a halt in front of them. A blood-red bar, like a Cyclops eyes, flashed back and forth on the hood, as if in anger of their actions. The passenger door opened on its own accord, revealing a sporty interior.

_Get in Sarah, _came the calm voice that had been talking to her on the phone.

Time sped back up. Sarah made to get in but was yanked back by the hand still gripping her arm. She looked back at the big man holding her, but his gaze was frozen on the car.

Taking advantage of that, Sarah kneed him in the balls. Hard. Multiple times.

Mac's face went purple and he dropped like a sac to the ground, holding his crotch in agony. Sarah whipped around and practically dove into the car without thinking, instinctively knowing that the car belonged to her father, and thus was the safest place on campus. The door shut behind her and the car slammed her into her seat as it accelerated.

_Seat belt please, _the car calmly stated.

Sarah put on her seat belt in record time.

James sat up, his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he watched Sarah dive into the _empty interior. _"Bloody hell!" James swore in disbelief. "There's no one inside that thing!!"

Mac groaned and struggled to his feet. The normally cold killer was quivering in rage. "That girl is fucking dead!"

"Easy Mac. We need the intel. Then you can kill her." James felt the situation become unreal as they both watched as the car sped a short distance down the wide pavement. But it was between classes, and screaming crowds of university students leaped out of the car's way. Many dove out of the muscle car's path, but the congestion was fierce. The car executed a perfect bootlegger's turn and roared back their way.

James's mind struggled to make the unbelievable connection, however improbable it was. It was an Artificial Intelligence. It had to be. Those stories of Wilton Knight inventing some sort of super-advanced autonomous robot were not urban legends. They were true. The proof was roaring back in their direction! James wracked his mind for ways to stop the car. Rather than dodging through the crowd of students, the car had clearly decided that re-entering a danger zone was preferable to harming innocent bystanders. But did that mean the Artificial Intelligence within the car was trying to avoid casualties, or did it obey the infamous robotic laws meant for AI's? He supposed he could jump in front of the car and find out.

Hell no. He was NOT gonna do that. Mac, however, took the direct approach. He kept his gun by his waist but emptied his clip into the car. The bullets caused fragmented spider-webbed cracks while simply bouncing off the exterior. The cracks disappeared without a trace less than a second after impact.

"Stop shooting!" he hissed. Mac reluctantly stopped. He hit the transmitter on his radio. "Cargo is headed your way. She's in the car from last night."

Sarah screamed and covered her face as KITT narrowly missed a female student whom froze in shock as he nimbly dodged the car around her.

"_I apologize for my briskness on the phone, and for my tardiness," _the car told her.

"What is this about?" Sarah asked, shrieking as KITT avoided a couple on the path.

"_I'm currently trying to form a reasonable hypothesis to answer that question," _it replied.

Sarah gripped the door handles. "But my father did send you?" she asked, over the roar of the engine.

"_Correct," _it replied.

Sarah swallowed as the car braked, then slid onto another path. "My father…is he dead?" she asked.

"_I cannot be certain of his condition or location at this time," _it answered.

"Aaahhhh!" Sarah yelled as a crowd dove to either side and the Shelby drove through the middle, nearly grazing a few students.

"_The location's perimeter was breached by men with hostile intent. My program for that scenario is very specific," _it stated.

They both watched the Shelby Mustang power-slide onto another wet walkway and dodge with obvious professional driving talent around the much lighter crowd. Then, from behind a tree, Tom stepped out and ran to the center of the walkway. He emptied his handgun at the windshield of the speeding car.

"Oh shit!!" James yelled as the car closed on Tom at a murderous speed. Tom, realizing his deadly mistake, dove desperately out of the cars path. The car roared by him, nearly clipping his legs in the process, and into a nearby parking lot

"Dumb shit," Mac muttered as he and James sprinted for their vehicle.

"Yaaaaaa!" Sarah screamed, slamming back in her seat, her hands raised in front of her face as a tall Chinese man ran in front of the car and fired a handgun at very close range. She heard the loud smack of the windshield taking hits. She dared to crack open one eye in time to see the windshield heal itself. Turning around, she looked through the rear window and saw the oriental man pick himself up off the grass.

"_Relax, you are safe Sarah"._

"Relax??!!" Sarah said in disbelief. "Who _are _there guys?"

On the middle console, pictures of men showed up. Their faces were magnified.

"_They are the same men who assaulted the Gainman home last night", _the car answered.

Tom picked himself up off the ground and sprinted after the car. The Shelby Mustang sped into a parking lot and right by Charlie, who was waiting beside their own vehicle.

Charlie decided to neither dive nor open fire on the car. Instead, he opted to watch in fascination as the car weaved a course around the other cars in the parking lot. Tom raced up to the vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Get in man!' he yelled at Charlie.

Charlie yanked open the door to their BMW X5. The modified engine lit with a roar. Tom dropped it into gear and peeled out.

"Seatbelt, seatbelt!" cried Charlie, trying to buckle himself in as Tom duplicated the Shelby's moves with surprising skill.

"Seatbelts are for wussies," Tom sniffed, wrenching their modified SUV around another car, throwing Charlie into the door in an undignified heap.

Sarah gripped the door handles like her life depended on it.

"_You're heart rate and breathing are higher than normal for a woman your age Sarah."_

She spared a glance at the center console. "Gee, ya think?" she replied sarcastically. She hung on as the car wove skillfully through the parking lot.

"Did my dad give you a name?" she asked.

"_I am the Knight Industries Three Thousand. You may call me KITT."_

"Alright…KITT," she said, rolling the name on her tongue. "So where are you taking me?"

"_I am going to the mountain roads, as it will provide the best environment for eluding the car following us," _it answered.

"What?" Sarah said, before twisting around to see an SUV hot on their tails. "Oh God…" she breathed. She turned around and stared at her can thoughfully. "Isn't this a Ford Shelby? Doesn't this thing have hundreds of horsepower?"

"_Mmy scans indicate that the pursuing vehicle is a BMW X5 with a heavily modified performance package and engine. In addition, traffic is heavily gridlocked due to peak rush hour. We will not be able to successfully outrun or out-manoeuvre our pursuers in these conditions."_

Sarah glanced at the center console. True to its word, the upper half displayed the immediate city streets and the crazy multitude of cars packing its roads. The bottom half showed ongoing scans of the vehicle behind them. She read 'twin turbo', 'modified struts', something about G-force grip, and many mechanical terms that held no meaning for someone versed in cybernetics.

"Ohhhh!" she lost sight of the console as KITT crushed her to the door while making a high-speed turn into an alley and racing down its length.

Mac slammed his hand into the steering wheel in frustration. He and James were stuck in traffic as they tried to make their way to the small private airstrip where their helicopter waited. He turned to look at his boss. "What is going on…sir. That was the same car from last night. I know it was. It had the same damned red Cyclops eye on the hood. We flew here. We flew 300 miles in a helicopter right after extraction. That…thing got here almost as fast as we did. And there was no one in the drivers seat. It was driving itself, man!"

James faced forward, mulling the options around in his head. He had been turning over the same information in his head. He was not the kind of person to jump at shadows. No one in their business did that without being reduced to a shrieking mass of paranoia.

"There's an urban legend, about a car Wilton, with the help of Grainman and a few others, built 25yrs ago. It supposedly housed the most advanced AI ever created."

Mac shook his head. "Wait a sec man. You're telling me that the car we're chasing can…talk?"

James raised his eyesbrows and looked at him. Mac was a very good solider, but his imagination, his creativity was, in many ways, very limited. "It does more than just 'talk' Mac. Supposedly, the car housed a type of computer that was highly advanced, something called a neural net."

Mac laughed in disbelief. "Come on man. That sounds like a brain. A human brain. You're telling me this car could _think?" _ He glanced at James and saw complete seriousness on his face. He turned his attention back on the road, his sense of surreal mounting.

"Man James, what did you get us involved in?

James didn't answer. Instead, he hit his transmit button. "Charlie, what's your twenty?"

Immediately, Charlie's voice came back over their earpieces. _"We're on the mountain road, chasing this car…aaHHHH!! Watch out! Car, CAR!"_

_"I see it!!"_ came Tom's voice, which was far more controlled than Charlie.

"Keep your shirt on Charlie," James placated. "We're almost in the air."

Sarah flinched for the umpteenth time, bringing her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes as KITT swerved around another vehicle. Again, they made it back into their own lane. She tried not to hyperventilate…and failed miserably. Her sight glanced over the side mirror, showing the BMW X5 still behind them.

"They're still back there!"

_"That is affirmative."_

Sarah glanced at the speedometer and digital controls. They showed KITT accelerating over 100mph and going even faster. Her chest heaved as she fought to control her panic. "Um, are you going to slow down???"

_"Negative."_

"Oh Gaaaaaaaaaaawwwww!!" she yelled as KITT slid around a curve. His nose turned inwards of their track and his tail swung out. The roar of the engine increased and his wheels spun. She saw the side of the mountain passing by the windshield, the hood slewing perfectly along the contour of the road. Sarah held on for dear life as KITT performed an incredibly fast and tight drift around the corner.

"What are you doooiiiiinggggg!" she screamed, as KITT snapped the car the other way and reversed their direction of drift. She reverently believed that any moment now KITT was going to lose control and they would fly off the tall mountain and go airborne.

_"Eluding our pursuers," _KITT stated in a matter-of-fact voice, his tone a complete polar opposite to the tension in the car as he continued to drift.

"ARE YOU CRAZY!!" Sarah yelled, seeing nothing but a massive cliff passing by in front of the car.

_"I do not believe so."_

Tom had a manical grin on his face as he yanked the wheel to the left, swinging the rear of the X5 to the right, blipped the gas hard with the heel of his right foot, and popped the clutch. The X5 slew around in the wake of the Shelby in a similar move as it went into it's first drift to the left. He turn into the drift and guided the X5 with precision and experience, holding down the accelerator and regulating the spin of the rear tires to control his drift.

"Wrong side, WRONG SIDE!!" yelled Charlie.

Tom came out of the drift with lots of speed and yanked the SUV back into the right lane and narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an oncoming car. "YEEEAHAAAA!"

"Oh man…" Charlie muttered, tightening his seat belt.

"KITT," Sarah began, as they hit a straight-away, "Uh…did my dad get a chance to test all this?"

A graphic showing all the test details shows up on KITT's monitor. Most of them are red and incomplete.

_"Not extensively, no."_

"WHY NOT!!!" Sara protested as KITT slewed around a super-tight turn. "Yeah…this isn't fun…at all!"

"_Sarah, you're fear is irrational and misplaced. Using GPS, radar, laser guidance and real-time satellite imagery, I have all the data necessary to safely navigate these roads."_

Sarah looked in disbelief at the center console. "Yeah, well, welcome to the world of being human!!"

Charlie held on as Tom threw the SUV around another corner, the wheels squealing as he pushed the performance envelop of the vehicle to the edge. "Quit pressing our luck!! James and Mac will have them from the air at any minute now!"

Tom look at him in disgust, "Man, quit being such a bitch!"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "That's good. Call me names…ack!"

Tom geared down and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The custom-built, 650 brake-horse power twin turbo engine roared as it launched the BMW X5 forward on the straight-away, giving it all he had.

"Ooohhhh!" Sarah grimaced as KITT swung into the opposite lane, straight into the path of an oncoming car. He accelerated hard. The seat slammed into Sarah's back as he shot forward like a rocket. He swung back into their lane, narrowly missing a head-on collision as the other car nosed-down in a power-stop, its front wheels smoking.

"How much more of this do I have to take?" Sarah protested.

_"I may be able to end the pursuit by timing the next pass, but it may kill the men following us."_

Sarah grasped onto that thought like a drowning victim with a lifeline. "Look, I'm a compassionate person…but SO WHAT!"

"_My primary directive is the preservation of human life."_

"Wha- but your primary directive is the preservation of our lives, right?" Sarah said, struggling to reason with him as they skidded back and forth in a crazy high-speed chase on the high mountain road.

_"That is the ideal outcome," _he replied.

"KITT, I know you are programmed with the preservation of human life and that's probably one of the most telling factors of a mature person. I know we've been trying to lose our tail and get them to stop. That's what all the crazy driving is about, isn't it? But they're not stopping! At some point you have to consider the preservation of your own life and my life. You tried, and that's what counts. KITT, if they die, no one will think any worse of you."

_"I have been programmed to obey all your directives."_

Something was wrong. His voice seemed more robotic. Absent was the light human tone that was emotion for KITT.

KITT was silent as they negotiated another corner.

"KITT, I don't want you to obey me because of what was programmed. I want you to trust me."

"_Trust…"_

"KITT, they were going to kill me back on campus! I don't want to die!" Sarah cried.

"………_you won't. I won't let them kill you," _KITT replied, emotion once again modulating his response.

"KITT?" she said softly. "It's the right thing to do. Trust me on this, okay?"

KITT pulled around the car in front of them and straight into the path of a large dump truck. Strangely, Sarah only felt a little apprehension as the front grill of the truck began filling KITT's windscreen. Whatever happened, she knew KITT would not let her die.

An explosive force threw the Shelby into the air. Sarah screamed in surprise as the Shelby leaped high up over the dump truck, clearing it's top with room to spare, before coming down behind it, slamming down in a shower of sparks on all four wheels, and accelerating hard with nothing but open road in front of them.

"AAAAAHHHH! KITT, I COULD KILL YOU!"

"_You trusted me?"_

"Yes! but you could have warned me!" Sarah complained. It was true, his sensors detected that Sarah was far more relaxed now and was visibly calmer, despite the violent landing. Was this trust?

"_I apologize for startling you, but there was no time."_

Sarah huffed.

Tom pulled around, drafting the Shelby closely. He spared a quick glance at his fuel gauge. It was nearing empty. He was pretty confident he could keep up to a Porsche 911 with this vehicle – if the driver was only mediocre, but at these insane speeds, the monstrous engine in the SUV was inhaling gas at a murderous rate. If they didn't get the helicopter here soon, they could lose their quarry.

Suddenly, the Shelby went left and Tom followed it automatically. It leaped into the air and cleared the orange dump truck. Tom watched it in disbelief for a fatal fraction of a second before he slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel left, desperately trying to fling the SUV out of Death's path. He smashed the right side of their vehicle into a car, sending it careening onto the dirt shoulder. But by hitting the car, Tom was not able to get the X5 fully out of the path of the truck. With tires squealing, and Charlie screaming, the SUV's left corner impacted with the truck's own left corner. It caved in the X5. Air bags deployed and both Tom and Charlie where hammered into the life-saving devices. Their vehicle spun round and round before coming to a stop in the gravel shoulder.

Tom came to as someone outside shook his shoulder. "Buddy? Hey, buddy?" He groaned, lifting his head painfully from the deflated airbag. He felt blood running down his nose and realized that it was probably broken. He experimentally moved his limbs. He was pretty sore, but nothing was broken.

"Hey man, don't move. Stay still. The ambulance is on it's way," someone said.

Tom looked over to his right. Charlie was already sitting up. His glasses were cracked and skewed madly on his face. His shift was slightly ripped at the shoulder and he had a really nasty seatbelt burn. But he looked a lot better than Tom felt.

"God I hate you…" Charlie muttered.

Tom could hear sirens in the distance and reached for the fake military intelligence ID that Blackwater had supplied them with. James was gonna be pissed…

"_Satellite imagery suggests they are unable to continue the pursuit."_

Sarah sighed. "But there will be more of them. How soon can you get us off this road?"

"_We must continue on this route for 23.8 miles."_

"KITT, stop sign. AHHHHHHH!!" she yelled as KITT hurtled through the stop sign, narrowly avoiding being broadsided by two cars.

_"However, there is another option," _he said, not even acknowledging what happened.

The hood of the car flashed into a grey colour. The structure was different, and when Sarah looked closely, she could see the decal for BMW on the front of the hood.

"What?"

_"Holographic projection." _Sarah's attention was drawn to the windscreen in front of her as schematics showed up in detailed orange lines. She could make out the Shelby, but superimposed over it was the outline of a BMW 5-series car. Her mouth opened in surprised.

_"The Pentagon fielded a pilot project for a roving urban assault vehicle. The project used a holographic field on many occasions. I have an upgraded version of that same technology."_

Sarah glanced around here. Every inside was the same, but she could see the sun, the country-side reflecting off the grey BMW holographic mirror polish. It was so real! Then a thought struck her. "Wait, is this other vehicle like you?"

_"Negative. It does not have an AI, nor is it associated with Wilton Knight. It is a different project funded for urban pacification."_

"That's not scary at all…"

_"Its use has driven the project's city's crime rate down dramatically and increased police popularity."_

"I guess that okay then," Sarah conceded. "So, is it a Mustang, like yourself?"

_"It is not. It is based off the Viper vehicle."_

"I see," Sarah said. Another thought struck her. "Um, should you be telling me all this?"

_"I have been directed to give you full access."_

"Alright. Thx…so you're system works just like the other one?"

_"Negative. My holographic system is based upon 50 miniature emitters placed strategically around the body. Should one or more emitter for a specific area be damaged, others will compensate to maintain the integrity of the holographic field._

_"_ That's incredible," Sarah commented, still staring around at the holographic body.

James and Mac looked down on the road from their helicopter, but all they could see was a bunch of cars. There was a Ford , a Volvo, another Ford, followed by another Ford, a BMW…

"Look, I'll check in with you and Tom when we get a visual. Start trying to decipher the hard drives and meet us at the airfield," James told Charlie before hanging up his phone.

Mac ground his teeth in frustration. "Where the hell is that thing?"

James silently checked out the cars on the highway as they sped along in the helicopters at its top speed of 205mph. "Alright, sod this. Take us back."

"What?" Mac protested. "They gotta be down there somewhere!"

"Take it down. That car won't go anywhere without her. There's got to be a better way of tracking them." James dialed his phone. "Charlie? You're on your way to the airport? Good. Get on your computer. Access the phone company's and find Sarah Gainman's cell phone. Then use triangulation. Yes. Good. We'll be there soon."

They flew in silence while approaching the airport. James's phone rang. "What? What, oh damn it. Fine. I suppose that will have to do. We'll pick you up in a few minutes. Good thinking you two."

"What's going on?" Mac asked.

"Sarah has a cell phone, but there's almost no signal in these mountains. We cannot track them until they exit this mountain range. But Charlie and Tom consulted a map and looked for the closest major city that's on this road. We need to fuel up and head for Las Vegas."

"We'll need to make a stop," Mac cautioned.

"We don't have another choice. Take her down," James ordered.

"_It should provide adequate cover until we reach our destination."_

Sarah looked at the center console. "You mean until we reach home…"

KITT did not answer.

"KITT, my father is _missing_. We're going home to find out what happened to him."

_"And how will you accomplish that?"_

Sarah bit her lip. "I don't know yet."

"_If those men continue to attack us, how will you defend yourself?"_

Sarah waved her hand. "I have you."

"_Thank you. However, there will be situations in which human help is required."_

Sarah sat back in the seat, stymied at his persistency. "You're impossible. Because you're my father."

"_Though I may contain all his knowledge, I am not your father."_

Sarah sighed and gave in. "Okay, so where have you been programmed to go?"

"_My mission, after ensuring your safety, is to enlist the help of Mike Traceur."_

KITT's sensors showed that Sarah's facial muscles contorted to look surprised, shocked, then disgusted.

"My father programmed you to find Mike Traceur? Awwwww…" she makes a disgusted sound. "Look KITT, my father may meen well, but I can take care of myself."

"_As I have undoubtedly observed, but slamming your knee into the groin area of males will not always work." _

Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

_"May I also point out that these people who are attempting to kidnap you are highly trained military mercenaries."_

"Okay KITT, I get it. But Mike Traceur??"

_"My recall is 100 accurate. Do you not know Mike Traceur?"_

Sarah gazed out her window. "I knew him. We grew up together."

_"But you do not speak anymore."_

Sarah made that disgusted noise again. "I left for Stanford and I never heard from him again."

_"That's strange. Why would he cut off all contact?"_

She grinned humorlessly. "Because he's immature and selfish."

_"Then why would your father send us to him?"_

Sarah waved her hand vaguely behind them. "Probably because we have military trained killers behind us, and Mike is an ex-Ranger and…"

She sighed. "…because my father trusts him." She had almost been killed twice in one day. She still wasn't sure what this was all about, but it was serious enough that people were willing to murder her. She was still alive, but luck had played a large hand in that. Sooner or later, that was bound to change. Like it or not, and despite her animosity for the damn jerk, they could really use his help.

"Alright. How far out of our way do we have to go?"

"_I am not yet certain."_

Sarah looked at KITT, puzzled. "You don't know where he lives?"

KITT displayed an old driver's license above the console in front of her. _"Is this the correct address?"_

Sarah read the title on the high-resolution holographic license. "No, he hasn't lived there in years."

"_In anticipation of that, I have devoted other resources to finding him. There are numerous images of Mike Traceur in Las Vegas over the last 10 months and as recently as two days ago at an ATM."_

"What? How do you know all that?"

_"I accessed the US government tax database and searched for all Mike Traceur's. I then accessed private and public security cameras in their area of residencies and used profiler software to search through faces on the internet and compared those names with the photo of Mike Traceur from his military dossier."_

Sarah cringed. "That's not scary at all…"

"_And Nevada power bills a Mike Traceur living just outside of Nevada, Las Vegas."_

Sarah cringed even further. "That's 600 miles away!"

"_627. At maximum speed, barring any unseen traffic anomalies, we can be there in 3hrs 17mins."_

Sarah worked her mouth, but nothing came out. "…You're kidding…?"

"_I do not 'kid'."_

A detailed schematic diagram showed new air intakes appearing on his body and a spoiler rising above the tailgate as KITT morphed to a mode far better to accommodate maximum speed. Sarah was pushed back hard into her seat as a powerful, high-tech whine could be heard coming from the engine. The country-side flashed by faster and faster until it was a total blur. The dotted white lines on the highway flashed by at increasing velocity and grew into one solid line. Slowly but increasingly visible, two vapour trails could be seen contouring to KITT's body as he sliced through the air at breakneck speed.

Sarah couldn't help the small grin that appeared on her face.

The Knight Industries Three Thousand blasted down the highway at nearly 200mph, the radar, laser and satellite systems working at peak efficiency as the car pushed the very edge of its performance envelope but never once losing control.


	7. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

A beautiful beach, filled with early sun-worshippers, graced the early morning sun. Lean and tone men and women of all ages were lying on blankets spread out on the warm sands, or jogging on the hard sand close to the surf line. Large waves breaking on the beach dissuaded all but the hard-core swimmers to stay ashore. But the balmy morning temperature was beautiful for anyone looking to soak up some sun before the start of the day. Lifeguards paced through the light crowd, greeting familiar faces and keeping on eye on the water. One guard shaded her eyes and noted that a few surfers were taking advantage of the large swells. Two surfers got bent but the rescue boat was already heading out for them. She shielded her eyes and saw a honey a little farther up the beach in shallow waves. She was hot-doggin' her way to shore, and was doing a pretty bitching job of it too. Seeing her reach the shore with style, she turned away and watched a few swimmers that might need attention.

The dark-complexioned, dark haired woman grabbed her board and made her way over to one of the expensive houses lining the beachfront. Turning on a water outlet by the rear steps, she washed herself down, squeezing as much salt water out of her hair as possible. Throwing her head back, she let water splash over her face and reveled in the feeling of a good surf on a beautiful morning.

Carrie tugged down on the helm of her long-sleeved white shirt as she breezed into the bedroom. She could hear the shrill electronic ring of her cell phone.

"How long has this been ringing?" she asked, bending over to extract the phone from the pocket of her coat.

"Forever," a naked blonde woman answered from her bed. She sat up, blinking sleepily at Carrie, a slight smile on her face.

"Rivai," Carrie answered, glancing at the women in her bed and smiling a little. However, as she listened, the smile slowly disappeared and her face became grave with dread.

"How long ago did this happen?" she demanded. "Okay, I'm on my way."

"I didn't expect breakfast in bed," said the attractive blonde in bed in a nice voice. "But I didn't think you'd run out on me."

Carrie hung up and smiled at her. "Sorry, work emergency. Look, there's food in the fridge. Get some sun, lay around, whatever. Just lock up when you leave, okay?"

The blonde looked a little concerned. "Aren't you a little worried about leaving a total stranger that you met last night in your house?"

Carrie fished out her Federal Service handgun from its holster, cranked back the slide, and chambered a live round.

KER-CHAK!

She flicked on the safety and put it back into her holster.

"Not really," she said, answering the blonde's surprised look. "See ya!"

The attractive blonde woman rolled her eyes and flopped back onto the comfortable bed. Of all attractive girls she had to go to bed with, she had to pick a police officer! She was desperate for a good relationship, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to go there…

Carrie breezed into the bustling corridors of the FBI building. She saw her 'partner' Kevin Pratt, self-proclaimed 'dashingly handsome and charming young man' gabbing with another agent. She walked by them, hoping against all hope that Kevin missed her. Running feet that caught up to her burst that bubble dream.

"Carrie Rivai, apple of my eye," he sang, keeping up with her. "Donni Lee is jonsing to see you. What's the crisis?"

Carrie walked briskly, but he kept up. "I'm needed in the Fish Bowl."

"Ooooooo….the Fish Bowl. How cool!" he exclaimed. "Can I come?"

Carrie punched the button for the elevator. "No."

The Fish Bowl was a special security briefing room deep inside the FBI building. It was a room within a room, and was suspended in space surrounded by physical and electronic anti-eavesdropping devices. Anything said inside was virtually impossible to overhear.

The elevator arrived and Carrie stepped in. Kevin jumped in beside her. Carrie punched the button for the floor and the doors closed. She turned to Kevin. "What is your problem?"

"Awwww, c'mon Carrie? Just a little hint? A tiny hint? A tidbit?" he dug, smiling his famous smile. There was a pretty substantial claim going around about Kevin and a number of female FBI agents, but she never cared to look into it. That smile never affected her, thank goodness…

"Kevin. Let me explain this to you in a simple manner so that even you can understand. It is for one, classified, and for two, it is need to know."

"But you know," he said.

She sighed, exasperated with her new partner. Thankfully, the doors opened, allowing her to march out of the elevator and to the entrance of the Bubble Room. Two marines in Extra Large size guarded the doors.

"ID please," one requested. Carrie unclipped her ID and handed it to a guard. He examined it closely, looked at her, then looked at the badge. The other consulted a list and had her sign. Then he scanned her entire body with an electronic device. "You're clean. Please proceed."

"Thank you," the other marine said and handed her ID back to her. The other opened the door. Carrie proceeded in, but was stopped when a hand grabbed her arm violently. She turned around to see her partner grappling with the two large marines.

"Hey, HEY! I'm with her! C'mon guys!'

"Sir, you are not on the list. Please leave now!"

"No! Carrie! Tell them. I'm with you…hey, leggo of that!"

Carrie smirked. "I've never seen this Agent before."

The other marine grabbed Kevin and manhandled him away from her. "Aw, c'mon Carrie! Don't be like that! Leggo you big gorilla…uh, uh…some people think gorillas are cool…oh shit…"

She turned around and let the doors close behind her. She entered the conference room. Most of the seats were taken by high-ranking FBI agents. At the head of the table sat three prominent figures: the Director of the FBI, General Swartz, and White House Secretary of Defense.

The Director nodded at her. "Nice of you to show up, Special Agent Rivai."

She took the closest seat. "Sorry Sir, but it was my day off, and I was surfing."

An Agent across the table glared at her, but the Director gave her an indulging smile.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Secretary of Defense Mason said from beside him. "Time is of the essence."

He passed out folders that made their way around the table. "During the Gulf war, the military realized that there were far too many casualties resulting from missed targets, improperly identified targets and Blue-on-Blue situations. This has been reinforced by the Iraq war. These mistakes were committed by missiles, bombers, air strikes, all manner of military attack. Long-standing analysis shows that, as long as humans are involved in fire missions, there will be errors resulting in wrongful deaths. Thus, the Prometheus project."

Mason held up a photograph. Carrie looked at an identical photo in her file. It showed a large ground installation and a satellite in orbit. Both were labeled 'Prometheus'.

"Prometheus was conceived and design in the interests of implementing extremely complex but accurate computer guidance in all military weapons. However, as development continued, we realized that it could be easily used by civilians. One excellent example is airplanes. Airplanes becoming disorientated lost or colliding with other airplanes will become a thing of the past. The processing power behind Prometheus is nothing the world has ever seen. It can control airplanes, direct military units, and guide any missile equipped to interact with Prometheus. Friendly fire, which has plagued military engagements for centuries, will become a thing of the past. Detection of intercontinental missiles can be instantly detected and interception solutions calculated at unprecedented speeds with pinpoint accuracy."

He turned to another page and everyone followed. "Prometheus is ready for activation. All that's needed to be done is sent the uplink codes to activate the chain of satellites in space. The encryption codes were developed by a man named Charles Gainman. That is his most recent picture. The codes are revolutionary in that they are a revolving algorithm so complex a series of supercomputers would take months to crack them. Unfortunately, as of last night, he and the codes went missing."

Mason turned to the final page. "As of last night, as best as we can guess, his safe house was attacked around 0400hrs last night. All the guards were killed. All hard drives missing and a car is also missing from the residence."

"Sir," an FBI agent interrupted.

"Agent Johnson," the Director replied. "You have something to ask?"

"Yes Sir," he answered. "Why is the FBI involved? The jurisdiction seems military."

"We are involved because the FBI also has a tie to Dr. Grainman. Special Agent Rivai has been working with Dr. Grainman on a Federal Project."

"What?" Johnson darkly replied. "So, she is responsible for all the people killed?"

Carrie's face tightened. She hated Special Agent Johnson. He had been on her case since day one. He had always questioned her, grilled her on procedures, and while other training agents would let them go, he had her written up on the smallest of mistakes so that her record was thick with infractions, however negligible they were. He had been the underlying cause of her attempts to quit the FBI multiple times, but through fellow coworkers, she had slaved and bulled her way through the nightmare he made her life to be. She had worked so hard, gone the extra mile with nearly every one of her investigations, and where others would praise her for her hard work, he had found every minor mistake, every error that costed the Bureau just a little more money, and had made sure her advancement was accomplished at a snail's pace. A lot of people kissed Johnson's ass. She refused to give him the time of day. And she had paid for it.

Some days she was tempted to shoot him.

"She worked in conjunction with the Pentagon to provide security. It was her idea to base his operations outside the Pentagon and use anonymity as the best security. It seemed to work…until last night," the Director replied.

"And that was what got them killed. Basing such a nationally important project outside of the Pentagon's considerable and competent security was a monumental mistake. I think _Agent _Rivai has much to answer for," Johnson stated in a cold voice.

Mason voice cut through his tirade. "Enough Agent Johnson. Special Agent Rivai is not at fault. In fact, it turned out that having the project concealed outside the Pentagon was a boon in its favour. The leak came from inside the Pentagon. In fact, we know who provided the leak, as well as certain enemy agents that have been working to uncover Prometheus inside the Pentagon. Had the project stayed within its walls, it would have been discovered far earlier."

The statement fell on Johnson with little effect. He continued to glare at Carrie. She glared right back. She wasn't sure what made him madder: that she never, ever kissed his ass like everyone else, or that she had stayed in the FBI and made Special Agent despite the huge number of red tickets in her file. Her hand itched for her gun.

"Which is where we come in," the Director stated. "Each of you will be in charge a squad with the purpose of retrieving the codes, Charles Grainman, as well as his missing vehicle."

"I'm a little confused," said another agent. "If we find the car, won't we find Dr. Grainman as well? Didn't he use the car to escape?"

"No," Mason responded. "We have excellent reason to believe that Charles and the car went separate ways."

"Wait a sec," the agent responded. "The car?"

"Excellent question," Mason said. He turned to the last page in the folder. "In the early 1980's, Charles Grainman assisted a man named Wilton Knight in designing one of the most advanced neural net Artificial Intelligences ever conceived. He placed this intelligence into a specially modified vehicle that contained a host of electronic surveillance that was incredibly advanced in its present time. Coupled with an ex-police officer whom possessed military training, Wilton established the Foundation for Law and Government (FLAG), which was a special investigative legal branch of Knight Industries. FLAG established an unprecedented record for cracking cases that had police agencies stymied and bringing to justice some of the worst criminals of their time. The combination of a human operator who possessed excellent investigative skill, coupled with an AI, has been a complete success."

The Director took over. "By the year 2000, FLAG had become a target for both criminal organizations and the government alike. The FBI in particular desperately wanted to know how the Foundation was setting an arrest record that no agency could come close to touching. On the other hand, criminal organizations had become extremely concerned as well. Even the most hardened criminals, the most organized groups, were not safe from FLAG. FLAG's ability to unravel criminal elements were, to say the least, scary. A crack investigative ex-police officer, with a partner that was bulletproof and armed with the most sophisticated of ECM electronics was damn near unbeatable. No criminal was safe – as FLAG proved time and time again. Which led to a cooperative attempt by multiple prominent criminal organizations to destroy FLAG. FLAG was forced to disband, but not before Devon Miles, the head representative of FLAG, was assassinated. The rest of FLAG fled underground and disappeared. None have resurfaced."

He placed his arms on the table and folded his hands. "The FBI has long since been interested in testing a pilot project of our own. In order to do so, we needed an AI and another surveillance vehicle built for our use. We were able to find one of the scientists chiefly responsible for assisting Wilton Knight in building the Knight Industries Two Thousand. His name is Charles Grainman. We believe that Grainman was nearing completion on the Knight Industries Three Thousand when he was attacked. We also believe that the AI is advanced enough to possess the codes for Prometheus."

Reaching to his side, he passed out individual folders. "Therefore, each of you will take a squad and search for Grainman, the car, and investigate his house for clues to the attackers. Sarah, because of your familiarity, you will investigate Grainman's house and track Grainman. Johnson, there has been a report of a shooting at Stanford University. Students reported multiple gunmen shooting at a speeding car on campus and the bullets bouncing off it. Manuel, you will work with the Pentagon to investigate the murders of the guards and trace the people responsible."

"Sir," Johnson interrupted again. "I would like to lead the investigation for Dr. Charles Grainman. If I understand this correctly, he is the key to Prometheus. The most senior agent should be put in charge of this investigation."

The Director shook his head. "On any other day, that would be the protocol. However, Special Agent Rivai has been his contact, and she is most familiar with him. Considering that he is on the run and is most likely in a state of paranoia, it would be most prudent for her to remain his contact."

Johnson shook his head. "I disagree, sir. I believe an Agent of more experience should -"

"Denied Johnson. That's an order."

"Yes, sir."

Mason stood and everyone else followed suit. "People, I cannot stress the importance of this mission. We MUST retrieve the Prometheus codes. Should those codes fall into the wrong hands, the consequences could mean the end of the world. Anyone who gains control of Prometheus gains control of anything electronically guided, including satellites that detect nuclear launches as well as those that guard our borders. The Pentagon, military intelligence, as well as the NSA are working full time on this one. We need your help and we need it now. Good luck."

As she exited the room, Special Agent Johnson sidled up to her. "You _will _contact me with every development. You will _not _proceed unless I okay your plan. Are we clear?"

She turned to him and smiled sweetly. "Don't you have some Junior Agent to go harass…Bill?"

His face became stormy and he turned to the Director. "I need to speak to you."

"Not now Johnson. You'd better get to Stanford."

Johnson stormed past Carrie and headed for the elevators.

"Asshole," she muttered.

"Excuse me?" the Director said, making her jump. She sheepishly turned around to see him standing behind her.

"Um, nothing Sir."

"I see," he replied, clearly ignoring what she had just said. "Good luck Rivai."

"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir," she replied, just as her partner ran up, a goofy grin on his face and sporting a blackening eye. He grabbed her arm and she shook him loose.

"So, so?? Where are we going?"

Carrie's gun hand really itched.


	8. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Mike Traceur knew he was dreaming. He was surrounded by that nice, hazy feeling deprived of nearly all physical sensations. But something was out of place. There was a weird noise that was definitely not part of the nice dream he had been having. It kept up for a while, before stopping. His sleepy mind began to fall back into that nice realm of mushy goodness. Then, the sound started up again, and against his will, he felt himself becoming more awake by the moment.

The ex-Army Ranger's training kicked in as the noise pulled his consciousness to full alertness. As he snapped awake, he felt himself surrounded by a nice and soft warmness. A delicate arm wrapped around his muscular midsection and a soft breath blew into the back of his neck. Soft, downy hair tickled his backside. In turn, his own arm was wrapped around another soft body, and a mass of unruly long brunette hair greeted his vision. He struggled to remember two names of the girls that were sharing his bed.

Am…Am…something and Merc? Merc…that was it, Amber and Mercedes, the two girls that he and his friend Dylan had picked up last night at the casino. Speaking of, Amber – the brunette – gave another annoyed grunt as the phone began ringing again on his nightstand.

He reached over the lithe, naked form of the woman and snagged the phone. "Sorry Amber," he muttered. She let out a small groan and snuggled deeper into the covers.

"Ya?" he answered, laying back against Mercedes, who snuggled tighter against him.

"Mike? MIKE!" a panicked voice greeted him.

"Dylan? Where are you? No, don't answer that. You're at the garage, aren't you?" he sighed.

"Well, ya. But that's not why I'm calling!" Dylan answered, his voice no less panicky.

Mike groaned inwardly. There was no hope. His friend was a brilliant mechanic who could build a monster can from a pile of scrap metal. He built and fixed his racing car and Mike brought home the cash from their wins. But his interest in the rest of the world left a lot to be desired.

"What's going on Dylan? You realize that Mercedes thought you were kinda cute?" he heard her giggle against his backside.

"FORGET ABOUT MERCEDES!! MY INVESTORS ARE HERE!!" Dylan shouted, all-out panic flooding the earpiece.

Mike's eyes snapped open. "Your investors?? Awww man…What did you do this time?"

Dylan answered in a sheepish voice. "Well…I may have put some money on that last race…"

Awww hell… "Not that race where I crashed the car? Not that same one?"

"Well…yeah…"

Perfect… His friend may have been a rock-solid mechanic, but his gambling problems left a lot to be desired. He sometimes put money on races – races that Mike usually won. The prize money was always more than enough, but Dylan had a habit of just putting a little more on the race than was necessary…

"Mike? Mike? You still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"They're knocking on the windows Mike and kicking on the doors."

"Alright, alright. Keep your shirt on. Look, how much do you owe?"

"Uh…$90,000?"

Mike shot out of bed. "$90,000?? On one race??!!!"

"Well, it's been building for a bit…"

Mike hopped about, trying to separate his clothes from the women's clothes. Dressed, he hung up the phone and dashed out of the house. He and Dylan used another house just down the block for the garage. The majority of the house was gutted in order to make room for the garage; it had very sparse living accommodations. He ran over just in time to see two guys pounding on the front door. He turned and let himself into the neighbor's yard, ran across it and hopped the fence into the garage. Quickly, he climbed through the basement window and dropped to the ground.

"AAAHHHHHHH!!!" Dylan yelled as a large shaped dropped next to his hiding place. Looking up, he sighed in relief as he recognized Mike. "Oh, thank God!"

Mike grabbed the front of his shirt. "Dylan, what the hell is going on? I thought I told you, no more gambling on the races!!"

"I know, I know! This was supposed to be the last one man. Big payoff. We couldn't lose! It wasn't our fault that Darren rammed you from behind!!" he protested.

"Dylan, he did, and we lost the race, and now you owe some really ugly-looking people some big money," Mike snarled, letting go of his friend's shirt.

Dylan collapsed into a ball, holding his head in his hands. "Oh man, oh man. What am I gonna do?"

Mike grabbed his friend and hauled him up. "I'll tell you one thing we're not gonna do. We're gonna get outta here before they call their friends."

"Wait! Hold on," Dylan protested as Mike hauled him up the stairs. "Whyddya mean outta here?"

They swung through the spare house, dodging engine components, fly wheels, scattered parts and tools before entering the garage proper.

"Mike, what are you doing man? This is not a good idea. You are NOT taking the car!" Dylan protested, seeing Mike hop into the driver's seat.

"MIKE! What are you doing Mike," the short, bearded guy said in a muffled voice, tapping on the frosted window of the garage.

Mike glanced at him. "Get the garage door," he told Dylan.

"Mike, what are you, crazy? He's standing right there," Dylan indicated, clearly agitated.

"You know we can see you?" said short beard man.

Dylan tried to reason, "Don't do this."

"Get in the car," Mike told him.

"I know how your mind works," Dylan tried, knowing the damaged race car wasn't nearly ready to leave the garage.

"GET IN THE CAR!!" Mike ordered sternly, starting the engine.

It roared with power and Dylan hopped in. Suddenly, a loud SPANG was heard. The car rolled off it's raised pads and bumped unceremoniously into the garage door. A cloud of smoke rose from the engine.

"Oooooo…" Mike glanced embarrassingly at his friend, who was looking at the engine in horror.

The side door was smashed in and small bearded man preceded a very large bearded man into the garage. They both stood there with folded arms and looked at Mike sternly. Mike slowly extracted himself from the driver's seat and stood beside the car. He glanced sheepishly at the two men.

"Soooo…I don't suppose you guys know how to fix a thrown road, do ya?" he tried.

"You think that's funny," said small bearded man.

Mike glanced over at Dylan, who stayed on the other side of the car, as it putting the car between him and the two men would make him safer. "Well, no, not really. But my friend might…?"

Dylan shook his head. "No. Not really."

Small bearded man took a preparatory breath. He glanced at Dylan. "We have a problem here Mike."

Mike looked around small bearded man to see large bearded man undoing his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. "He ever talk?"

Small bearded man ignored him. He folded his hands calmly in front of him and steadily regarded Mike. "See, you have a busted car, which means no racing, which means no income, and you and your friend owe me $90,000."

"Eighty five-" Mike began.

"Ninety!" small beard man stated, cutting him off.

"Alright, whatever," Mike said, resigned. "So, is this the part where you break our legs?"

Small bearded man rolled his eyes. "What am I, stupid? You're an ex-Army Ranger. You'd probably kick my ass."

He pointed over his shoulder at much larger bearded man. "That's why I have him."

Mike held out his hands in a placating manner as big bearded man stepped forward. "Look, let's just--"

Big bearded man threw a simple but powerful right, left combination, which Mike easily deflected by stepping inside the swings and blocking with his elbows. He returned the favour by pounding a quick left, right combo into the man's ribs, causing the man to double over in pain. A right knee smashed into the man's sternum and he staggered backwards and fell to the floor, clearly the losing end of their confrontation.

As he got back up, a stormy cloud of anger crossed his face. He shuffled his feet before pulling his right back unleashing a powerful right haymaker.

Mike easily saw through his amateurish moves as he telegraphed the right haymaker. He ducked under the powerful swing, feeling the air whoosh over him, and grabbed the big man from behind. Locking his arms, he put the man in a chocker hold and squeezed his airway shut. The man flailed his arms, but to no avail as his face turned red, then blue from oxygen starvation.

Suddenly, Mike heard the familiar sound of a gun safety being released behind him.

"MIKE!" his friend yelled, his voice trembling with fear.

Mike looked over his shoulder. The sight that greeted him made him let go of big bearded man, who gasped desperately for air.

Small bearded man had a very large gun pointed at Dylan's face. "You have until midnight to get me my money," the man said in a very chilling voice.

"Tonight?" Mike said. "C'mon man, I'll get you your money, but you gotta be reasonable!"

"Oh I have been, for a long time," small bearded man said, never taking his eyes off Dylan.

Mike kept his eyes on the man's trigger finger. He might be able to reach him before he pulled the trigger… "How the hell are we supposed to do that?"

Small bearded man took his eyes off Dylan. "Have a bake sale, what do I care?"

"And if we can't?"

The man smiled grimly at Mike, touching the gun's barrel to Dylan's temple, "Then Dylan becomes another grave in the Las Vegas desert."

Mike looked at his friend and saw him trembling with utter fright. "And twenty-four hours after that, if I still do not have my money…you'll join him."

Mike was pretty sure he'd be able to rack up a high body count before he'd let them do that. But he decided keeping his mouth shut was the best choice here…

Both men left the garage. Dylan collapsed onto the side of their broken car. They spent some time like that, Dylan collapsed on the side of the car and Mike standing where he was. He glared at Dylan the entire time, but Dylan refused to meet his eyes. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Dylan, Mike relented.

"Okay, how much money do you got?" Mike asked, his mind racing over their options. Sadly, they were very limited.

"Uh…a few hundred dollars?" Dylan squeaked.

Mike thought it over. "I have about $4000, plus another $5000 in an emergency fund. That's more than enough to make a play."

"Uh…play? You're going to win us $90,000 at the casino's?"

He looked sternly at his friend. "Or we can run. You got a better idea?"

Dylan's face drained of blood as the ramifications hit home. "I don't wanna run Mike. Don't get me wrong, I don't wanna die either, but I really don't wanna spend my life running."

"Then wish me luck," Mike replied, walking out of the garage.

Sarah stared in surprise as KITT blasted by a police car. They passed so fast that Sarah didn't even have a chance to see the officer's startled face. "Uh…KITT? That was police car."

"_Affirmative."_

"Don't you think we'll get reported in?" she asked, feeling a little concerned.

"_Negative. I am currently broadcasting the proper codes for a Federal vehicle. I have also logged in a Federal Task Force presence in the event that they confirm our codes."_

Sarah relented. "Oh…I guess that's a good idea.

"_Yes. I know," _KITT answered.

She returned to staring out the window at the passing country-side. Her face took on a melancholy expression. They drove in silence for a few minutes longer before KITT spoke up.

"_You are sad."_

Sarah turned from the window and looked at the center console. The small on her lips was sad. "Yes. Do you know what that is?"

_"I have a definition of the term."_

"But you'll never feel it," Sarah guessed.

_"Untrue. Though I lack an understanding of emotion, I possess the ability to learn it. It is a fact that all beings must die, correct? And despite that knowledge, grief is inevitable."_

Sarah sighed, then gently nodded. "Yes, but sometimes it's not that a person dies, it's the circumstances."

_"I am not sure that I understand."_

Sarah looked at the AI thoughtfully. She gathered her thoughts. "Somedays, I look at my friends and wonder how my world became so different from theirs. They have happy families that bask in the comfort and closeness of family pairings. They have get-togethers so often it just seems natural for them. They'll grow older, but as they do, they'll have each other. My mother left my father a few years ago. She just had it with his eccentricities. Paranoia. Living in the middle of nowhere. He was a great father, but not much of a husband. So unlike my friends, I'll never know what it's like to have a functional family. I sometimes dream of being able to go to large family gatherings, of running in the park at a big barbeque, playing with the kids as the family mingles."

She shook her head sadly. "But ultimately, I'll never know."

"_You blame your father for you parents failed marriage."_

Sarah bit her lip, then nodded. "I told him that he had driven her away." She turned her attention away from KITT and gazed back out the window. "I really never had a chance to take it back"

_"You are talking about regret. I have no reason data from Mrs. Grainman."_

Closing her eyes, she said, "She died. Last year. It took so many years as a family to come out like this it just… suck."

KITT was silent for a long moment. Whether he was keeping silent for her benefit, or that he was really thinking over everything she told him, Sarah didn't really know.

He finally replied, _"That does…suck."_

Sarah chuckled in a self-depreciating manner. It did pretty much explain her entire life. There wasn't much beyond Sarah Grainman except for her work. It was all she had. Her family was nearly non-existent, and talking about all this made her reminiscent of the large, lifeless hole that represented her family…

Sarah looked curiously at KITT. "Why did you bring this up?"

_"It is why the documented that expressing the root of an emotion can help provide peace of mind. Is that research mistaken?"_

Sarah raised her eyebrows and looked at the AI in a slightly different light. "No. It's not." She returned her gaze to the country-side, trusting in KITT to keep them safe. Smiling softly, she realized that she did feel a little better. It had really helped talking her problems out with someone…even if that someone was an AI. Still smiling, she glanced back at the AI as it silently guided them unerringly along the road. She may never look at computer the same way again.

"KITT? Thx for caring," she whispered.

_"You are welcome."_

They rode in companionable silence the rest of the way to Vegas.


	9. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

KITT and Sarah enter Vegas. Sarah stared around in silent wonder at all the magnificent buildings that dotted the glitzy landscape. Billboards, signpost, waterfountains, all of them were built with a magnificent splendor that caught the eye. She had been her before, but every time was a magical experience. This was a city that thrived on one unlikely industry: gambling. It was a city where people came and spent their hard-earned money on games of chance. As a scientist, Sarah never understood the draw of Las Vegas. Beyond the glamour, beyond the electric shows that wow'd audiences and captivated visitors, was a machination of odds that were stacked heavily against gamblers and designed with the sole purpose of separating players from their money.

There was a scientific principle called The Gambler's Ruin. It stated that the longer one played against the odds, the greater the chance one would eventually lose. Casino's were designed with one sole purpose in mind: to create scenarios in which they won money from the gamblers. To do that, they designed the buildings to max out the potential of The Gambler's Ruin. One could win heavily at one point, but so long as the Casino somehow kept the gambler playing, sooner or later the stacked odds would win out, causing the gambler to lose his or her money to the casino. The huge and lusciously expensive buildings surrounding KITT and Sarah as they drove down the street were testaments to the complete success of The Gambler's Ruin.

"_Mike Traceur has just made a cash advance withdrawal on his credit card."_

An image of a casino floor opened in front of Sarah. It showed a scruffy-looking Mike sitting at a poker table and flirting with a scantily-dressed floor-girl.

Sarah grinned wryly. "Yeah, that's him."

The glove compartment dropped open and a tray extended itself. Imbedded within the soft foam were many different gadgets.

_"Take the subvocal earpiece."_

Sarah reached in and guessed the ear-looking piece was the thing KITT wanted. She took it and fitted it to the inside of her ear, then wrapped the secure wire to the curve of her ear.

_"It is a communicator so we can keep in contact. It is always activated so I can always respond."_

"Can you hear me now?" she said in good humour.

_"Affirmitive."_

Sarah laughed. "Okay."

James's team sat inside the helicopter. All the doors were wide open, but it was still as hot as hell. The taps on keys and occasional swear words from Charlie were an indication of how poorly the progress was proceeding on the decryption of Charle's hard drives. Charlie hadn't even made his way to the Prometheus codes yet. The hard drives themselves were also locked, and it was proving difficult to coax the information from the units.

A sudden beeping made all the team members focus their attention on Charlie. "She's here! I got her cell phone triangulated. She's actually in Vegas!"

The team jumped out of the helicopter as Mac secured it. "Let's roll!"

The ex-Army Ranger had no trouble keeping a completely bland look on his face. An emotionless face was something every veteran of war possessed.

"All in," he stated, pushing $5000 worth of chips into the center of the table.

Hidden behind his black glasses, another player considered his cards, and then threw them down in disgust. "I'm out. What you got?"

Mike overturned his two cards, showing absolutely…nothing.

The other player regarded him with skepticism. "You planning on playing like that all day?"

A familiar female voice spoke up from behind him. "You play like that and you won't make it through the day."

Shocked, Mike whipped around him his chair. "Sarah???"

Taking perverse delight in his reaction, Sarah smiled. "Hi Mike."

"Wha--what are you doing here?"

She tilted her head. "Gee, it's nice to see you too."

"Umm…look, I was just…" he gestured helplessly to the poker table, where all the other players were looking on impatiently.

Sarah leaned in closer. "This might sound crazy, but I need you to come and leave with me, right now."

Mike looked at her like she possessed two heads. "You gotta be kidding me. That _is _crazy."

Sarah grew impatient. "I'll explain everything on the way."

Mike was annoyed. There were things left unsaid between he and Sarah, although he hadn't really planned on speaking to her anymore. But this was not the time. "What can you possibly say to explain that?" he demanded.

Sarah sighed, exasperated. "My father's missing, maybe dead. And this morning some men tried to kidnap me."

That brought him up short. He had a few short-tempered replies on the tip of his tongue, but that was definitely not the answer he had expected. "Oooooo…okay…that's…actually a pretty good start," he conceded. "What did the cops say?"

Sarah cringed. "Dad wanted me to come to you for some reason."

His stared at her in disbelief. "You didn't go to the cops??!!" he exclaimed.

Urgently, she told him,"Mike! We're wasting time!"

The other poker player spoke up. "Yeah, you're wasting time _Mike. _You gonna play or what?"

James's team entered the casino and split up. The noise of people, beeping machines and flashy lights made it difficult to find just one person.

"_I got her. She's on the casino floor, talking to some guy. Looks like they know each other," _came Mac's transmission.

"Let's try to ID the guy Charlie," James radio'd.

_"On it."_

He couldn't help her. Not yet, anyways. There was a large part of him that had become an Army Ranger because he had wanted to serve his country – to do the right thing and see that it was done. That same part of him felt obligated to help Sarah, despite the fact that it had been four years since they had said one word to one another, and despite the fact that it had been him that had walked out on her. Even though it had ended badly – with him completely at fault – she had been nothing but cordial to him. Mike could be a major ass, that much was true, but what he had done to her was not high on the list of Good Deeds.

Desperation radiated from her, and deep down, Mike knew he had to tip the scales back the other way. Problem was, he and his friend were in some pretty deep shit of their own. He needed to take care of that first, otherwise, he wouldn't be alive to take care of anything else. "Look Sarah, even if you are in trouble, I have problems of my own," Mike told her.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "What's that mean?"

He heatedly replied, "It means I can't help you." Mike felt bad about it, but there was nothing he could do…at least not right now.

Sarah felt her temper rise and got ready to lash out, but KITT interrupted her.

_"Sarah. The men who were following us earlier are now in the casino. By the bar, black coat. By the slot machines, red sweater."_

Sarah grabbed Mike and yanked on his arm.

He spun around. "Sarah! What _is_ it?" he said in annoyance

"The men who tried to abduct me? They're here!"

Mike stopped and began glancing around. Instincts provided by thousands of hours in combat and Ranger training surged to the forefront of his mind. His awareness expanded to include the casino. He became aware of every patron close to them. Automatically, he evaluated them for threat analysis by the way they walked, the way the presented themselves, possible concealing clothes, the glances that they gave others…

He look around, taking in all the possible exits and escape routes. Meanwhile, Sarah began supplying their identities. "By the bar, black coat. By the slot machines, red sweater. They couldn't have followed me. There's no way!"

Poker game and chips forgotten, Mike slipped off his seat and scanned the casino floor. He made out the men from Sarah's description. "They wouldn't have to. Is your cell phone on?"

"Ah, yeah?"

He grimaced. Sometimes having a cell phone was like having an electronic leash. It was child's play for phone companies to triangulate your position.

"Turn it off. They triangulated you. Were you wearing that top this morning?"

She looked down at her tight blue shirt. "What do you think?"

Mike took off his coat. "Hold this."

Sarah thought it was too late to try and hide her identity, but it couldn't hurt. She began putting the coat on. He began working his way through the casino with Sarah hot on his heels.

Dodging around people, he said, "You know, if we run, a friend of mine is going to die."

Sarah looked at him. "What do you mean?

He sighed, "He has a gambling problem. And he owes a lot to some very nasty loan sharks. If I don't get the cash, they'll kill him and me."

Sarah considered. "How much do you owe?"

He gritted his teeth. "Ninety thou. By midnight."

She glanced at him, then at the casino. Sarah snorted. "Playing a poker game was your Master Plan?"

He stopped at the end of a row of slot machines and whirled around. "You got a better idea? I'm all ears."

Seeing her chance, she jumped in with both feet. "I'll pay it. Help me and I'll clear you," she offered.

He looked at her, puzzled. "You have that just laying around somewhere?"

"Emergency fund my dad set up. Will you help?" she hissed, her eyes darting around.

Mike considered. Actually, there wasn't much to consider. Her dad would have undoubtedly set up some type of fund for her. They may not have had the greatest relationship, but he was a good person and did care about his family – even though he sometimes did not show it. And like it or not, he had been the one to screw everything up between him and Sarah. If anyone was to blame it was him. Not that he was going to say that…

"Where's your contact?" he said in answer.

Sarah quickly pulled the subvocal processor clear. "Outside. The car. Here."

Mike took the earpiece she handed him. He fit it into his ear. "Tell me if you recognize anyone else... Hey, you there?"

_"Yes, I'm here," _a voice answered.

Mike looked around. "How can you see them?"

_"I have access to the casino's security cameras."_

Mike nodded. He grabbed Sarah and proceeded toward the nearest exit. "Good. See their earpieces? Look for other guys with the same ones."

_"I believe there is another one headed towards you."_

Mike scanned ahead of them and spotted Tom across the room striding in their direction. He hadn't spotted them yet, but he was on an intercept course. "He's one of them," he informed Sarah, quickly changing direction.

Across the large casino floor, Mac could track them clearly from his vantage point. "They're heading for the east entrance," Mac radio'd. He hopped down to the main floor and began pushing through the crowd. But Mac did not see Mike change his and Sarah's direction…

_"They've seen us. They're looking for another way out," _James replied.

"_They have all the other exits covered," _KITT told Mike.

Mike cursed and brought them up short. They had to get out before they were cornered. He did not know anything about these people, nor what their capabilities were. Was this a simple snatch-and-grab? Or were they willing to draw guns and harm others around them? Considering they hadn't done the latter yet, Mike felt that there was a good chance they did not want to attract attention. In that case, the best thing they had was the crowd. It gave them the best chance at leaving unmolested. "Great. Which one is the smallest guy?" he asked.

_"If you're considering hand-to-hand combat, may I make another suggestion?"_

Mike did not like people questioning his Command decisions. Every moment they delayed increased their chances of being caught. He told KITT as much. "Look man, you're really starting to piss me--"

The fire alarm went off. The crowd started to panic and people began rushing for the exits.

"-- off. Aw, damn you! The best thing we had going for us was the crowd!" Mike berated. Sarah began looking around with concern.

_"Go to the security door on the east wall."_

He spotted the door. It was well within reach, but it had an electronic combination lock. "Those doors have remote locks genius!"

"_I'm aware of that."_

This contact of hers had better be damn good to hack into a casino's considerable security system. Mike grabbed Sarah as he strode towards the doors. "I swear, if you can't open that door, once I'm finished with these guys, you're next…"

The red 'locked' light blinked rapidly, and then turned green. The door clicked open. Mike's opinion of her contact just went up a tad. He yanked them through the doorway.

James saw his quarry walk through a security door that somehow became unlocked. That should not have happened. But he didn't waste time on it. He sprinted and managed to get to the door just as the man began to shut it. Wedging himself in the door, he regarded the man menacingly. "You're in way over your head kid."

Mike looked incredulously at the man who had shown up out of nowhere and jammed himself in the doorway. "You think so, huh?" he sarcastically replied.

He stepped backwards as James burst through the door. He sized James up. The man was shorter than him, but he looked cut and tough. He had 'old eyes', like a person who had seen more of life than most people and much of the awfulness that came with it…just like his own. This man was a professional.

James threw a quick right. Once again Mike stepped inside the punch and blocked with his left elbow. Mike responded by a quick right jab, but James grabbed onto him and shoved him off-balance. He flashed a quick knee into Mike's midsection, sending him staggering back against the wall.

Sarah watched helplessly as her life hinged upon the outcome of the two men's fight.

James was committing himself and his center of gravity was forward, so Mike shrugged powerfully and threw off both hands, causing James to stumble slightly. It was less than half a second, but it allowed Mike to hurl a quick left into James's face. He feinted with his right and James's arm swept up to block. Mike unleashed another quick left that dazed James. He followed with a solid right that cracked into James's face and staggered him against the wall behind him. Mike moved in, but James shook off the blow and grappled with Mike. He was shorter, so James hunkered down slightly and lowered his center of gravity. He shoved hard and sent Mike back-peddling against the wall. Both fought for leverage with neither winning.

Mike had enough. He looked at his opponent apologetically.

The look was so out-of place in the fight that it puzzled James for a second…before Mike kicked him hard in the balls.

Sarah winced as James let out a pain-filled grunt of agony. She saw him send Mike a disbelieving look as he was shoved out the door. The security lock re-engaged as it shut.

Mike breathed hard from the fight. That last bit wasn't exactly his style. Kicking your opponent in the balls wasn't something men usually did in a fight. But right now, he didn't have just himself to worry about. "You're lucky that worked," he said into the mic.

_"Luck does not factor into it."_

Mike grabbed Sarah and ran down the hallway. "No? Does sitting in a car while we get ambush factor into it?"

They rounded a corner as KITT answered, _"I'm not sure my entering the casino would be the most subtle approach."_

Mike looked incredulously at Sarah. "Where did you find this guy?"

_"In approximately 10yards, make a left turn. There will be an emergency exit. I will meet you there."_

He hustled them faster down the back hallway. "Looking forward to it."

James's team caught up to him at the door.

"What happened?" asked Tom.

James looked disbelievingly at his team. He had just run into someone with Black Ops military training. He was sure of it. But that hadn't been predicted. There was no Intel that indicated Grainman of having any contacts in the Black Ops community. "Our job just got harder."

KITT pulled up to one of the casino's emergency exits as Mike and Sarah bolted from the door. He opened both his doors and Sarah dove onto the driver's seat.

Mike looked appreciatively over the car. "Nice ride!" Then his brain caught up to him. Sarah was the only one sitting in the car. There was no one driving it…

"What the HELL is going on?" he said, taking a step back.

Sarah turned in exasperation. Mike seemed to make her do that alot… "Just get in!"

Mike raced around to the other side of the car and clambered into the passenger seat. He reached over to close the door, but it moved on its own accord and closed for him. He yanked back his arm in surprise. Both he and Sarah were slammed back in their seats as KITT peeled out. The black Shelby took off at insane speeds for a vehicle inside a parkade. Like something from The Fast and The Furious Tokyo Drift, KITT drifted around corners and down ramps, weaved in and out among parked cars and pillars, and the whole time his engine roared and the wheels screeched loudly in the confining parking garage.

"I thought you said your contact was in the car?!!" Mike hollered, hanging on for dear life.

Sarah hung onto the door handle in a far calmer fashion. Using a level tone, she told him, "No, I said my contact _was_ the car."

_"Hello Mike. You may call me KITT."_

Mike recoiled in his seat. He pointed at the modulating voice line on the center console. "Oookay!! It's talking and it knows my name! Would you mind telling me how this thing is driving by itself? Is your contact remote-controlling it??!!"

Sarah explained patiently as KITT negotiate another corner. "It's not a thing, it's a car. And no, it is not being remote controlled. It is _driving itself. _This car houses an AI. You may call it KITT."

"KITT? AI? You mean this thing is being driven by a computer??" Mike got out before he was plastered to the side as KITT swung around a car at dangerous speeds.

'Good God', thought Sarah. 'Was he always this dense?' As KITT drifted down another ramp, she explained in an exasperated tone, "Mike, considering what my father does and what I do, you think that's really so far-fetched?"

Mike hung on as KITT accelerated off the ramp. He considered. No, it wasn't too far-fetched. "Alright. Fine. Whatever. KITT, you try something like that again, and I'll put sugar in your gas tank."

In a voice that held no threat, just a promise, KITT responded, _"Don't even think about it…Mike."_

For a second, Sarah wondered if this vehicle had something like an ejection seat. The image of KITT ejecting Mike into the low roof of the garage almost made her snicker. "Mike, don't antagonize the car. KITT, just ignore him. You're doing great."

_"Yes, I know."_

Mike looked around him. "These guys know what this car looks like?"

Sara grinned. "I wouldn't worry about that."

KITT spun to the ground floor and raced towards exit. The well-dressed attendant in the parkade booth looked stunned as the gate blocking the exit rose without him pressing the button. A purplish Audi whipped by his booth. It passed under the large white 'MONTECITO' sign attached to the parkade's ingress/egress and joined the busy flow of traffic.

Mike was stunned. He glanced about the exterior as KITT joined the slowly moving flow of traffic in front of the casino. "Huh. I never knew it came in Chello..."

James's team, along with the crowd, had exited the casino. He and his team glanced around attentively, but no one sighted the car. All of them saw and dismissed the Chello-coloured Audi passing in front of them. This was Vegas. Cars came in all colours. But from behind its darkly tinted windows, Sarah gazed out at her pursuers in smug satisfaction.

Mike appraisingly eyed the professional-looking hologram superimposed over the Shelby. "Wow, so are you like a Transformer or something?"

_"Negative," _answered KITT. _"The superimposed holographic matrix is only capable of mimicking cars of equal or greater size."_

"Neat option" answered Mike. "I suppose you got access to the internet?"

_"Affirmative."_

"Good." He looked over at Sarah. "Sarah, I don't want to be pushy, but I really need that money or they will really kill my friend. Then I'm next!"

Sarah wet her lips as her heart beat a little faster. "KITT, get me to the nearest bank that's mine."

Mike sat in the car and waited as Sarah withdrew the money. He looked around at the full parking lot. It was evening time. People should have been home for supper and banks should have been closed. 'Only in Vegas…' he thought. Catching himself shaking his legs, he stopped the nervous habit. Waiting for Sarah was grating on his nerves…especially when doing it in the passenger seat. Mike was never really one for that seat. He was more of a driver and, not for the first time, glanced over at the pilot's seat. Temptation was ever the devil…He propped up his head with his hand. "Well, this is weird," he muttered.

_"What is weird?"_

The pulsing red lines that mimicked sound patterns involuntarily drew his attention to KITT's voice modulator. He shrugged. "I dunno. Sitting here, in the passenger seat, and having a creepy guy in the back seat."

_"You think I am a…creepy guy?"_

"Well, kinda…yeah."

_"Have you known many creepy guys in the backseat?"_

He looked at KITT, revolted. "Okay, now _that _came out wrong…"

_"Perhaps it would be less creepy if it was a female in the back seat?"_

Mike put out a hand. "That's it. This conversation has officially taken a downward spiral…"

The door opened as Sarah climbed back into the driver's seat.

Mike excitedly turned to her as she shut the door. "You got it?"

She dropped a bag into his lap. "I withdrew everything and closed down my account." She looked thoughtful. "Funny, the teller didn't even bat an eye. Any other bank would have put up a firestorm to keep a customer there."

His head was down as he dug through the bag. "This is Vegas, Sarah. Things like that happen every minute…" He dug around some more, this actions becoming more frantic by the moment. Finally, he stopped and stared at Sarah in disbelief. "Sarah…there is only $20,000 in this bag! What the hell??!!"

She shrugged, unconcerned. "It'll be enough to get us started."

Mike gapped at her. He felt himself getting angry. "Sarah! If I don't get the money, my friend is going to be executed and buried in the DESERT," he said, his voice rising with every world. "Then, they are going to KILL ME!"

"We'll win the money. I have a plan," she calmly told him.

"How, by hitting ANOTHER CASINO? After YOU made FUN of--"

"We'll win it in a car race!" she smiled, revealing her plan.

Mike felt the words die on his lips. "A car race…" he said, shocked. Mike felt like he was floating, already weightless like the dead spirit that he was about to become. He spread his arms. "What car race? What car??"

Sarah clearly did not understand as she pointed at KITT. "What? This car!" she replied, speaking in a voice that was obviously meant for a moron. Mike felt like hammering his head on the dashboard. Of all the stupid, idiotic ideas that she could have come up with…

"Sarah, do you even understand what you're saying? Have you ever been to a car race?"

Her deafening silence answered his question.

"The cars that people bring to these races have over $100,000 of custom parts put into them. They have cold air intakes, turbo's, active fuel pumps, intercoolers, headers, cams, fuel rails, engine management systems, wheels, suspensions, nitrous, hundreds of horsepower, quarter miles in the 9's, shit that will completely blow away any stock car!" He gestured around KITT's interior. "This IS a stock car. You'd lose your money in the first few races Sarah!"

Sarah gave him a look that was all-too familiar, making him groan inside. He'd never say it, but one reason why he'd left Sarah was because she had this uncanny ability to think outside the box. It was one of her qualities that had made her so successful in her career thus far. Not only because she was academically gifted, but that she combined her genius with her uncanny ability to find answers to problems in ways that few people could anticipate, seeing angles that others would miss. Whether she was aware of this cognitive ability or not, it easily set her apart from her peers. And for a guy like Mike, that knack really got under his skin. He had never taken well to being out-thought.

"How far away would you say Palo Alto, California was?"

"What? What does that have to do with anything?!!" he shouted, clearly upset.

She fixed him with a glare. "Humour me Mike!"

Mike breathed heavily, glaring back at her, clearly trying to get his temper under control. Finally, he bit out, "At least 650 miles!"

She grinned triumphantly. "And what would you say if I told you it only took us slightly over three hours to get here?"

His gaze became slightly distant as he worked out the calculation. Then he became agitated. "Then I'd say you were a liar."

She said nothing and just grinned at him.

"What? Are you serious???"

Sarah turned and pointed out the windshield at the crowded road. "Go find us a race Mike."

The black Shelby pulled up neatly to the curb. "Wait here," Mike told Sarah, stepping out of the car and striding to his front door. Sarah reclined in the driver's seat. She opened both windows and let the warm, dry wind draft into the interior of the car. Soon, Sarah could hear yelling coming from inside the house. With a bang, the front door opened and Mike came out holding someone by the scruff of the neck. He force-marched him to the Shelby. By then, Sarah could hear the person – he was nearly hysterical with fear.

"We're gonna die! We're gonna die! I'm too young to die man! I'm still a virgin! I'm gonna diiieeee! A virgin!!"

"Get. In. The. Car." Mike opened the door and shoved, dumping said person into the back seat, then climbing into the passenger seat and slamming the door. He casually waved to the back. "Dylan…Sarah…Sarah, meet Dylan, whom is my mechanic and addicted gambler."

Dylan's tirade of death cut short as he was faced with the most beautiful girl he had seen… in 8 hours. But the way she smiled warmly at him, it gave him a tiny bit of hope, albeit temporary, about losing his virginity. But it did manage to stem his flow of morbid thought.

Mike sighed thankfully in the sudden peace and quiet. At least beautiful girls still managed to flabbergast his friend. He turned to Sarah. "Here's where we go…"

As they pulled up, Sarah took in the plethora of sights and sounds. Cars were everywhere! To her, they all looked sleek, expensive, outrageously coloured, and above all, fast. Very, very fast. Some sat with their hoods up, showcasing their glinting engine components in the light. Owners polished, tinkered, and guided onlookers whom stopped to gaze at the assortment of custom components gracing hundreds of cars. Other cars spun their wheels, smoking them in a contest that had to peel the rubber right off the rims. And yet others lined up before taking off in a cloud of burnt rubber and exhaust, roaring down a long strip to the deafening delight of the crowd. And the noise was almost deafening! There were so many cars racing their engines that the throaty rumbles of power reverberated through the air and shook the ground. Hundreds of people also milled about the events and cars. There were a lot of guys, as well as girls. However, she noted with disgust that a lot of the girls seem to be wearing very little, as well as participating in events that had little to do with cars. Sarah caught a crowd cheering as some very attractive girls sluiced water off their very tight white t-shirts…she twisted her head away, her face red with embarrassment.

They pulled up to a spot and parked. Mike told her to stay put and look like 'the shit' as he and Dylan did their part. As she climbed out of the driver's seat, she was greeted by hoots, jeers and whistles. Acting had never been her forte, but now, in front of a crowd of catcalling guys (and some women), she had to look the part of a racer. Sarah knew she could handle the catcalling. She wasn't a stranger to guys trying to get into her pants, and over time, she had gotten used to dealing with it. But it was the cars that she had no experience with. Luckily, KITT easily filled that role. It was, as it turned out, a good thing KITT was plugged into every online source of information on cars, building up a vast reservoir of information in a very short time. And though she had vehemently, even heatedly disagreed, Mike had her open up all the buttons on her v-neck shirt until – in Sarah's mind – nearly half her black bra was on display. It was awkward, but with KITT listening intently to people who spoke to her, then relaying to Sarah what she _hoped _was the correct info, Sarah added attitude and cockiness (none of which she really felt) to the answers. She didn't know how stupid she really looked, but no one outright laughed her out off the grounds. That had to count for something.

Finally, after a group of girls had come over and invited her to participate in the 'wet-t-shirt- contest, an invite that almost made her jump into KITT and drive away as fast as possible, Mike and Dylan came back. She noted that there were two fairly unsavory characters had come with them. Mike pulled her over to the side.

"Okay Sarah, me and Dylan got you a race. If your…car…is as fast as you say it is, you can take this guy."

Wordlessly, Sarah nodded. Her throat suddenly went dry. She was really about to do this. Her crazy idea was about to become something more than desperate thinking. Oh God, was she crazy? She was a scientist, not some street racer! It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The scientist in her had thought the odds were in their favour, that this avenue was the most feasible for obtaining the money needed.

Mike stared at her with concern. "Sarah?"

"Okay," she whispered, opening the door to KITT's driver's seat and climbing in. Mike shut the door. "You can do this Sarah."

Again, she nodded. Mike got into the passenger's seat while Dylan jumped in the back. They directed her to the drag strip. She rested her hands on the wheel but KITT drove. They got out again as she remained in the car. Just then, one of the unsavory characters jumped in front of the car, his hands halting her. He, Dylan and Mike got into another heated debate. Then Sarah saw the man open his coat meaningfully at Dylan. She saw his face drain of colour and she spied what looked to be a handgun in the shadows of his coat. She felt her stomach churn and cramp as she broke out in a cold sweat.

Wordlessly, Mike walked over to her window. His gait was wooden, as if he was forcing himself to go through the paces. She saw Dylan walk behind him. It was a walk of a dead man.

"Sarah?" His soft voice was barely heard over the tumult of the racetrack. "Sarah, they want the pink slip to your car," he said, not able to look her in the eyes.

She didn't understand, and said as much. Her voice quivered with fear.

Mike rested his hands his hands on the window sill. He breathed deeply, a calming technique that he had learned in the Rangers. It didn't work. "Sarah, they decided on a different race with a different car. They need the ownership papers to your car."

"But we gave them the $5000 buy-in!" she protested.

His knuckles tightened on the window's stripping. "They took all that money."

Sarah gapped. "All of it??!! But…but…" she stammered. "That means we…have to win this race or it's over?"

Dylan nearly broke down crying when she said 'over'.

Mike nodded. "They need your pink slip too." Then he turned around and pointed a shaking finger at the car approaching in the opposite lane of the race strip.

Sarah glanced over – then did a double-take. The sun glinted off the light sky-blue paintjob. Stylish racing lines graced the sporty body. A sleek tail fin adorned the rear trunk. The car was so low to the ground that Sarah didn't know how it drove without sending up sparks.

Dylan moved up beside Mike. He hung his head. "Sarah, that's a BMW M3. The driver name is Quento. He's a pro-street racer – the best. He's never lost a race. Not one. The guy's a damn legend! There's not one racer that doesn't want to know how his cars are built. The guy is gold. He's got at least $100,000 of custom parts in his car. He's also interested in rare or limited cars. I think that's why he wants to race you. He wins them, then he and his crew rip them apart and build monster racing machines from them."

A sound distracted Sarah, and she looked over to the passenger seat. Papers stuck out of a slit just above the glove compartment. She took them. They were ownership papers made out in her name to a Mustang Shelby GT500, which looked identical to the one she was sitting in. Reading down it, she was surprised to see everything looking exactly identical to the real thing. She rubbed the paper between her fingers. It even felt real! Looking up, she wordlessly handed the papers to Mike. He looked down in slight disbelief, but it was tempered by the enormity of the mistake they had all just made.

"We need to figure out another way…" he whispered.

Sarah glanced at him. She felt for him. Looking at the slot where the paper had appeared, then at the center console that displayed KITT's silent modulator, she gave him a slight smile. KITT was giving them the go-ahead.

"So what do we get if we win?"

He gave her a really strange look. "Well, we'd get his car…"

On its own accord, the Mustang Shelby rolled away from Mike and Dylan to the front starting line. In a roar of unadulterated power, the modified M3 raised a cloud of noxious fumes as it burned its tires while moving to the same starting line. Sarah could see the shadow of a man staring at her from behind the darkened windows. Her heart hammered in her chest as she laid her body back against the seat. A man standing between the two cars looked at her, then at the other driver. He raised his hands and twirled his fingers. The air shattered as the M3's engine released it's power in a roar that commanded the attention of the audience. She could see the spectators leaping out of their seats. Many were cupping their hands around their mouths and screaming. Others raised their arms in high expectations of seeing their legend win another trophy. Still, others screamed for the glory of being in the same presence as the legend.

Then the man dropped to his haunches and his hands went down…

Human reactions were fast when trained. They were even faster when instinct was added. The M3 launched flawlessly, its wheels throwing the monster machine forward before the hands had finished coming down.

Thus far, KITT's experience with emotion had been fleeting and short. He did not know what anxiety was or nervousness. But he watched the man with all the precision his CPU afforded him. He 'saw' the man's hands twitch downwards. Later, video replay would show that the moment between the man's hands moving and KITT's launch would have been inhumanly fast. He shot off the line nearly .5 seconds faster than the M3. His wheels did not squeal. Traction was calculated at a millions of times per second, redistributing power to all four wheels at levels unmatched by any car ever built. The crescendo of the engine increased, as did its high-performance whine as the powerhouse quickly hit its linear torque curve and accelerated the Shelby hard.

Sarah was pinned to her seat. Again, she felt the silly grin making its way to her face. The stands blurred by at an increasing velocity. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the BMW M3, with blue fire shooting out of its twin exhaust, move up on her car and pass. Her heart stopped beating.

'No…'

KITT's chemical and visual scans of the other car's exhaust revealed by-products that indicated a powerful accelerant had been added to the fuel mixture. KITT's sensory scans also concluded that the M3's engine was extremely modified and could output a tremendous amount of horsepower and torque, and was very capable of out-accelerating his main engine. But KITT did not have just one engine. He had five. The main engine was a new hydrogen turbine engine, and was the constant source of power for propulsion. It was running at one-hundred percent power. That left the 4 other motors, and they had remained off…until now. Stores of energy, both solar and generated, waited in various gel capacitance packs stored within his body. A miniscule amount of energy from the gel packs was enough to power his electrical systems.

But they could power more than just him. They could power the auxiliary magnetic motors on each wheel. KITT dumped the raw power stored within into each motor. They came alive, their fields gripping the wheels…

…and Sarah felt herself propelled forward by a force beyond description. The Knight Three Thousand was the most advanced vehicle in the entire world. And on the race track, it lunged forward with an acceleration that was absolute, that acknowledged no equal.

The Knight Three Thousand smashed past the finish line a full car length ahead of the BMW M3. Almost .2 seconds after that, it was nearing the end of the long airplane runway, with the M3 just passing the finish line. Inside the losing car, its driver stared in incomprehension. How had he lost? He began to realize the enormity of what had just happened.

"…_Sarah? Wake up Sarah. Sarah?..."_

Her name penetrated the fogginess of Sarah's mind. "Uhhhh…" she groaned. Blearily, she blinked her eyes and cleared her vision. Grey and white patches, unfocused and blurry greeted her. They quickly turned into colour and swam into focus.

She had…passed out?

"KITT? Ohhhh…what happened?"

"_I must apologize. Rapid acceleration on human occupants using the auxiliary magnetic centrifuge acceleration motors was not completed. However, I have acquired further data to improve its performance."_

"What?" she said, confused.

"_You passed out."_

"Ohhh…"

She was surprised to hear KITT's voice laced heavily with regret. _"I am sorry. I caused you harm. I…"_

Sarah dismissively waved a hand. "I just passed out. No biggie. I'm alright now."

"_Yes. You're blood pressure, heart rate, and respiration is within normal parameters now. I am glad."_

She gave him a smile. "Let's just not do that again anytime soon."

"_Agreed."_

"Good!" She sat up. "So, what happened?"

KITT opened the windows and the roar of the crowd made her look up in surprise. People were on their feet, yelling and screaming. Most of them were clapping. She took it all in. The last moments of the race came back to her as KITT drove slowly to the finish line. "We won…" she breathed.

"_Yes, I know," _KITT replied. The silly grin made its way to her face. This time she caught it. He sounded…smug. KITT was learning. She stuck her arm out the window and waved. Then she laughed with joy. "Yay KITT!" she yelled.

Unbeknownst to them, one person wasn't sharing the crowd's cheer. Mike scowled. The money from the BMW would easily buy their lives back, but it was all due to Sarah.

Against all odds, she had done it again.

A lone sheriff stood alone on the steps of the Grainman house. The joweled-cheek lawman checked his watched again, and then sighed. His jowled cheeks moved as he chawed on some tobacco. Looking to the side, he spit out a thick stream of juice before glancing at his watch again. A sound caught his ears and he looked up. A small speck was moving in the distance. Apprehensive, he squinted his eyes and looked harder.

It was a vehicle. He was sure of it. And behind it was…another vehicle? And another? And…Ho-Lee-CRAP…it looked like the entire FBI force was invading the county!! With a huge dust cloud that fanned into sky like a touchdown caused by a tornado, a battle group of six FBI suburbans and one forensics van all led by a FBI Chevy Tahoe tore up the gravel driveway. The large procession of vehicles sprayed dirt and rocks as they skidded to a stop.

Jeff Ramsey hacked from the dust and waved his arm in a futile attempt to clear the dust storm in front of his face. Men and women wearing dark blue jackets with 'FBI' stenciled in bright yellow exited the vehicles. A lady with a dark complexion and expensive sunglasses approached him. Her gait was steady and measured, and she walked as if she had just taken new ownership of the present land.

"Sheriff Ramsey?" she asked, her voice business-like and hard. 'Yep, definitely a city-folk Feddie,' he thought. 'Got the attitude too…'

"Who's asking?" he answered gruffly, giving her the 'eye'. She may be some Feddie, but this here was his jurisdiction, his town, and HIS case. Sure, they automatically ruled over him, but he didn't like surprises, and he sure as hell didn't like people giving him upper-stiff lip without so much as a 'hey, how do you do! Good to see ya partner!' He didn't give a rat's ass if she were God. She wanted something, she was gonna ask real nice-like.

She was a two foot or so shorter than he, though he was six foot three, so she had to incline her head just to look him in the eye. But incline she did. She removed her sunglasses. "Special Agent Rivai. I'm in charge of this investigation."

Ramsey grinned humourlessly. "Well, Special Agent Ravay," he began, butchering her name, "I don't know what you expect to find here. Me and my here boys have been through this house already. Ain't nothing to find except a lot of wires and junk. Whatever's of value has flew the way o' the coop."

The lady smiled sweetly. "Then you won't mind if we take a look?"

Fighting the urge to say something smartass, he turned and waved a hand at the house. "Make yourselves at home."

She turned around and addressed the small group of FBI agent behind her. "Alright folks. From what we know, they house was attacked early this morning at around 0400hrs. That is our clock. Let's start tracking."

The technique for tracking people was used widely by law enforcement agencies throughout the world. The FBI was quite fluent in its execution. In order to track a suspect or target, they needed to narrow down the 'clock'. The clock was a time frame between the event and FBI involvement. Once that was established, key elements of the trail needed to be identified to narrow the 'clock'. The smaller it became, the closer the FBI would be to their quarry.

She made a small gesture with her hands and the small army of FBI agents flooded past him and onto the grounds. Turning to him, she said, "Show me where the bodies were found."

He nodded. "This way."

The examination of the bodies by an FBI M.D. specialist was not as grisly as she had expected. That told Carrie many things. Item 1) None of their gear had been taken. They had lain exactly where they had fallen. The attackers were professionals. They had come for only one thing in mind.

2) All of them had been shot with precision directly in the forehead. It spoke of preparatory training.

3) None of the guards had fired one round from their weapon. The attack had been coordinated down to the second. The perpetrators had managed to work their way through the defensive sensors and position themselves without drawing any undue attention. Either someone had an advanced info on their patrol route, or the tangos were far more dangerous than they had given them credit for.

"Sam," she radio'd. "Find any shell casings?"

The FBI agent in charge of combing the bushes replied, _"Nothing yet. We've covered the entire perimeter and are expanding outwards. But I don't think we'll find anything. They must have policed their own shell casings. Whomever they were, they were very organized and careful."_

"Damn," she muttered. "These guys are confirmed pro's."

Ramsey grunted, not bothering to tell her that he and his boys had already done so. This FBI agent was one careful woman. She was dotting all the i's, crossing all the t's.

Currently Carrie was working her way through the house, the sheriff and her partner walking behind her. Like many people, her partner had easily worked his easy-going manner on the Sheriff. Currently they were talking about hockey, and from the guffaws of laughter from the Sheriff, they were getting along fine. That meant that neither one of them had their mind on the job.

Once again Carrie cursed the Gods for having stuck her with such an awful junior partner. Raising her hand, she beckoned both of them forward. The two men appeared beside her. Both finished chuckling at a joke.

"Gentlemen, do you notice anything here?" she gestured at the cybernetic-strewn table.

The Sheriff doggedly worked his way across the table. Her partner, however, gave it one glance and shrugged. "Dunno Carrie. Robocop's guts maybe?"

The Sheriff chuckled.

She pointed to a bare spot. The colouration was completely off, as it something big and rectangular had been there. Everything was covered in a fine layer of dust…except for one large rectangular area. "Notice anything?"

"There's nothing there," stated the Sheriff.

She gave a small smile. "That's right. Nothing. But there used to be something. I'm pretty sure that's where Charles's hard drivers were. Someone took them."

The cheer dropped from the Sheriff's face. He and his men had clearly missed that.

Her partner scratched his head. "That can't be good."

She regarded him like a moron. "No, it can't."

He winced. "Yeah, I guess they contained the Prometheus activation codes, didn't they?"

The sheriff looked suspiciously between the two. "What's Prometheus?"

Carrie spun around and grabbed her partner roughly by the labels of his suit. "Excuse us Sheriff!" Her partner protested indignantly as she hauled him to the front of the house. "Listen up asshole! Do the words 'operational security' mean anything to you? Project Prometheus is a _classified _operation! Don't you _ever _reveal classified information to unauthorized personnel again, or so help me, I _will _have you fired so fast from the Bureau you won't even be able to get a job guarding a Toys R Us store. Do you understand?"

"Awww, come on--" he replied.

The icy tone in her voice stopped him. "Do you understand?"

The carefree look on his face dropped away. "Yeah, I get it."

Carrie spun around and stalked back into the house. She ripped her cellphone from her belt and dialed up the Director, leaving her partner to stare at her retreating back in morbid anger.


	10. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Charles Grainman woke up with a start. He floundered around, crunching leaves and branches until he realized where he was. Birds chirped in the late afternoon air as he sat up and looked around. He found himself buried in the middle of a dense clump of bushes. He had been moving all night and into the early morning with nothing more than a compass and the stars to guide him. But he wasn't the spry young man he used to be, and traveling non-stop with the threat of killers on his tail and taken its toll on his old body. He had found a dense clump of bushes in the early morning and collapsed into a dreamless sleep. A rumbling startled him, but he quickly realized that it was his stomach. He reached into the small backpack beside him and retrieved two oatmeal bars and a canteen. Cracking open the canteen of water, he took a thirsty gulp before tearing into the ration bars. Eating like a starved man, he huddled in the bushes, alert for the smallest sound.

Charles felt like a hunted man. The hidden passage had been cramped but long, and its exit covered well. The passage had been part of a small smuggling operation at the farm. The previous owners had been pot growers who had been busted by the local police. Somehow, the plans for the tunnels were creatively 'erased' from the records prior to his contacting the FBI and setting up the safe house location. He had never told the FBI that the passage had been built. After the assassination of Devon Miles, Charles found it really hard to trust anyone. Out of necessity, he knew that an escape route was probably a smart thing to have. He just never imagined that he'd have to use it. Which lead to the question: who wanted Prometheus? There were a number of agencies he could think of who would want to acquire his project, but there had been no intelligence alerting them that covert action might be a possibility. Of course, with a project of this magnitude, there had always been the possibility that lives would be in danger. Ever since the assassination of Devon Miles, members of FLAG had realized the truth of such risks, which is why all the key members had gone to ground, never to emerge. Except for him. Prometheus truly represented the next leap in computer guidance. It's activation would herald a new age in which thousands of lives lost in airplane accidents would cease; greenhouse emissions from jet exhausts would be decreased significantly from more efficiently-calculated plane routes; Blue-on-Blue situations that had been occurring since the beginning of time would be a thing of the past; that collateral damage of civilians and non-combatants would cease to exist. Prometheus would save so many lives and give much in return.

Finishing his small meal, Charles put the wrappers back into the backpack. And yet, like the beginning of time, it was obvious that someone, somewhere, was planning on stealing Prometheus and turning it into a weapon of destruction. There was no doubt in Charle's mind that that was what they were after. Since the beginning of time, scientists had invented tools for humanity, only to have certain individuals turn them into weapons of mass destruction. Charles shook his head. It was a common fallacy that scientists were constantly opening Pandora's box and unleashing horrors into the world. To his mind, nothing could be further from the truth. Many of the tools invented by scientists had been creatively imagined for the benefit of humanity as a whole. In the Animal Kingdom, Humanity was among the weakest of species. Unlike many other species, homo sapiens and their ancestors had neither the strength, power, speed, nor endurance to survive among the many more powerful animals of the world. However, Humanity had key talents that none possessed: their knowledge, their cunning, their intelligence, and their ability to learn and invent. Since the time of the Cro-Magnon, Humanity had needed to invent tools to aid in their survival. With the invention of the spear and fire came an increase in a human's survivability. As technology grew, as Humanity mastered steel-working, then steam-power, then energy-harvesting, humanity's ability to survive and control the world around them grew exponentially. And yet, for all those who invented tools to ensure Humanity's survival, there were those who used those same tools to wage wars of destruction. The invention of atomic and nuclear energy heralded an age of new and alternative energy generation, providing millions of people with the necessity of life. At the same time, others also used it for utter destruction and decimation of civilizations.

Charles stood up and shouldered his backpack. He took out his compass and gauged his position. History was about to repeat itself. The benefits of Prometheus were enormous, but so too, were the dangers of abuse should it fall into the wrong hands. And if he stayed idle, that was exactly what was going to happen. He'd be damned if he let that happen. He set off to find the river that wouldn't be far off. As far as he knew, there was only one other person who knew the location of his destination, and that person could be trusted. Wearily, he took a reading off the compass and altered his direction slightly. At this pace, he should be able to make Jennifer Knight's cabin by late night. He would be safe there. As far as any government database was concerned, the name Ms. Knight lived under had no connection to anyone whatsoever.

Mike stared into the darkness beyond the windshield. He could barely see the road ahead of them. The moon was out in full force, but it provided little illumination for him as the country side sped by at a dizzying pace. He was still a little freaked out by a totally unknown AI driving the car, but it seemed to follow the road with unerring accuracy. He looked down at the computer screen. It showed two bank accounts: the one Sarah had provided and the one the loan sharks had given him.

Sarah had provided the account numbers. She still couldn't believe that the two unsavory characters had wanted to trade the car for their lives. She may been completely illiterate when it came to the world of cars, but even she knew that the car they won had to have been worth far more than the $90,000 Mike and Dylan owed. It hadn't been long before prospective buys had started offering prices for the pro-street racer's car, and she had been proven right. They had sold the car for far more than the amount they owed.

"_Money transfer is complete," _KITT stated.

Mike felt a load lift off his shoulders. It was a pleasant feeling. "Thanks Sarah."

Sarah sat in the driver's seat with her feet up. She hugged her knees to her chest. The silly grin wormed its way onto her face. She replied. "No problem."

He settled back into his seat. "So, you have no idea who's after you or what they want?"

Sarah slowly shook her head.

KITT answered, _"Part of the footage I captured when leaving your home included this."_

The screen changed to show a picture of KITT and Sarah's chase on the highway. The view zoomed in close on the chasing SUV's license plate.

"_I have traced the vehicles registration to the Black River Corporation."_

Sarah frowned. "What? What's Black River?"

The cabin grew silent, save KITT's engine as he raced through the night. Mike's face drained of colour. No…not Black River… damn. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. Visions of the past played through his mind like a bad horror movie. "Black River is a private security firm that's owned and operated by the ex-military. It's a professional outfit that's a large front for special Black-Ops 'wetwork'. The company mostly employs mercenaries for plausible deniability work. They have deep pockets with ties to the government."

Sarah felt her world collapse in on her. "How…how do you know all this?"

He responded, "We spent some time on the ground with their men in Iraq. They're just about the money. They have no conscience whatsoever."

"_My analysis of the situation leads me to believe that Black River is most likely after Charles's research, in order to try and get control of Prometheus. Within seconds of cracking Charles's encryption, they would be capable of crashing planes, attacking foreign nations, the result of which would be chaos, certain death, and possible war."_

"And he just had the program specs laying around on his hard drive?" Mike asked.

_"They would need Charles Grainman to decode the data."_

Mike looked over at Sarah. "Or someone who knows what Charles knows."

Sarah shrugged her shoulders again. "Yes, we collaborated on the initial encryption codes, but then we stopped speaking." She gave a little laughed that contained no humour. "Ironic, isn't it? I gave up this world my dad was involved in because I was afraid that, someday, it would lead up to this."

She waved a hand at KITT. "And yet, here I am, running for my life, being chased by people who want me for my dad's work anyways."

"_I possess all of Charles Grainman's knowledge and can access Prometheus, which is why, after ensuring Sarah's safety and Mike Traceur's health, I've been programmed to go to the FBI and turn myself in."_

Sarah looked at KITT, startled. "What?!! No! We are not going to the FBI!"

Mike looked at her like she was crazy. "Look, maybe the FBI can help us?"

She speared him with a look. "The FBI will stick us in a room and ask questions for 12 hrs. And like you said, this Black River has ties to the Pe-n-t-a-g-o-n. Right now, we don't even know who to trust. I have to get back to the house, figure out what happened to dad. He'll know what to do! We've already wasted way too much time coming out here. You would do the same thing for someone you loved."

_"I cannot allow you to go off by yourself."_

Sarah looked at KITT's center console. "Either you take me back home or I'm going by myself."

KITT paused, then replied, _"In that case I have no choice but to take you."_

Mike banged his head against the headrest and tried a last-ditch argument. "You do realize that by going back to the house you'll be doing exactly what they'd expect you to do. You'll be taking KITT right to the people who want it."

_"I possess an UAV which is capable of sensing human biosignitures within a 20 mile radius. I can ascertain the presence of hostile…"_

"KITT, you are NOT helping," Mike interjected.

"_My recon abilities would…"_

"KITT, SHUT UP!" Mike bit out.

Sarah whirled around on Mike. "Don't tell him to shut up!" she said scathingly.

Mike leaned back in his seat, clearly surprised at the defensive tone in Sarah's voice. "Sarah, it's not a 'him'. It's a computer. It's an 'it'," he tried.

Sarah opened her mouth to retort, and then closed it. He was right. When did she begin thing of KITT a more than a neural net computer? She had called KITT a 'he', hadn't she? Could computers be classified as a sex? Did KITT even understand what it meant? Still… "Stop clouding the issue Mike. It doesn't matter. I'm not running from this."

"Sarah," Mike consoled, "I've done plenty of fighting, and trust me. It doesn't make a difference."

She sighed. What kind of defeatist talk was that? Of course it made a difference! You just sometimes didn't see it. Just because you made a difference didn't mean you'd always saw it. Sometimes your actions created an invisible wave that propagated through time. Surely Mike had killed some evil men during his tour. Those evil men would not be able to hurt others, nor influence others to hurt others. Just because you couldn't see the change didn't mean it wasn't there.

"That is about the dumbest line I have ever heard," she muttered. Louder, she said, "Look, you can leave if you want, I will still leave your debt paid. Your choice."

Mike stayed silent.

Sarah took that as a confirmation. She looked to KITT. "Turn around KITT, we're going home and finding my dad."

KITT cranked the wheel and e-brake. The powerful car spun around. He released the brake, spinning the wheel. With the engine roaring, the tires on the car spun and caught traction, catapulting the supercar forward. KITT shot down the highway towards home. In front of them, the purplish sky was beginning to give away to the brilliant orange of morning.

Carrie had been at this for hours now. She and three other agents were staring at the same screen on the computer monitors in front of them. None of them could access the files on the remaining hard drives in Grainman's computers. She glanced at the modem light that was attached to her computer. It connected directly to the FBI's Crypto Division, allowing the cyber-geeks there full access to the connected computer. All of them were hacking hard away with their considerable talent and computer power.

And they were still getting nowhere. She rubbed her temples in frustration. There had been no body, suggesting that Charles had somehow escaped. The attackers did not have them, as their attack on his daughter proved that they were now working on a secondary plan. But there wasn't one single, iota of a clue that told them where Charles had vanished to! Like some great magician, he had vanished off the face of the earth without leaving behind one tell-tale clue!

"Agent Rivai!"

She turned her head to see one of her forensics agent rush into the house. He was panting hard, and braced his hands on his knees while breathing deeply, as if he had just run all out to get to her. Quizzically, she faced him. "What is it?"

He held up one finger, taking a few more seconds to compose himself. "Okay…sorry ma'am. I just ran all the way here. We found an old smuggling tunnel burrowed through the ground that opened into a gully. We found a set of footprints leading away from it. We got a team on it, but if it's Mr. Grainman, he's got at least a day's head start on us, and it's really rough terrain. If he knows it, he's gonna move faster than our guys."

She shot to her feet.

"Get us eyes in the sky…"

The agent smiled. "Already called for one. Should be here in 10-20 minutes."

For the first time in hours, she smiled. And with the depression lifted, she turned around and kicked the feet of her partner off the desk where they had been resting.

"Wha?" he snapped awake, blinking blearily from a light doze.

She held her disgust in check. No matter what happened, after this mission was done, she was going to have him drilled out of the Bureau, cushioned little Senator's boy or not.

"Go help the search team!" she snapped.

A crooked smile lit up his face and he gave her a two-fingered jaunty salute. "Ma'am, yes Ma'am!" He grabbed his cell phone off his belt. Sarah ignored him. Probably calling his daddy. The little snot…

The other agent followed him out the door, the same disgust mirrored on his face as it was on Carrie's. Another agent moved to a wall filled with books and knick-knaks just as a well-hidden doorway began to open. She was about to move over to inspect the door when her cell phone rang.

Hitting the 'talk' button, she said, "Carrie."

_"Carrie, this is Special Agent Johnson. Sitrep. Now," _came the brisk tone of her superior.

She gritted her teeth in annoyance. "We've located some tracks leading away from the house. It looks to be an old smuggler's tunnel. I have Eyes coming in to do an aerial."

_"Good. Get that aerial ASAP. I do not have anything here. She missed her afternoon classes, which for a girl like her, is unlikely. I had our office try to triangulate her cell phone, but she must have turned it off or is out of range."_

"Understood." Carrie made to turn off her cell when he said, "_I'm heading to your location now and will assume command. Meet me out front. Johnson out."_

She resisted the urge to smash her cell phone. He was one reason why she was a lesbian. Jerks like him trashed her life.

The sky was turning dark, making it harder to see where he was going. For the umpteenth time in a row, Charles stumbled and tripped, sprawling unceremoniously in the dark. With the hunger pangs, the burning muscles, the lungs that demanded air, and just plain exhaustion, he lay there for a while, panting and wheezing into the leaves and detritus of the forest floor.

Soggy, decomposing litter had never felt so good…

As the fingers of unconsciousness plucked at his will, Charles reached out with his hands and painfully pulled himself to his knees. Backpain stabbed into his resolve and he nearly collapsed again. But in the distance of the gloomy twilight he could see a log cabin. He had to get there. It wasn't too much farther. Still, as he forced himself back onto his feet, his legs threatened to buckle. He whispered a silent mantra, asking his legs to hold out just a little longer. Taking a step, he stumbled, and knew that each step forward would be a struggle unto itself. But he had to make it. He had to. So many lives depended on it. Shaking with effort, he put forth another leg, then another…

A marathon later, Charles collapsed against a window of the cabin. He braced his arms on the sill. His legs no longer supported him. He eyed the doorway in desperation. It was only a meter to his right. But every joint in his body screamed in pain. Every movement caused jolts of sharp, penetrating pain that made him gasp. He reached for the doorknob…his fingers brushed it…and Charles collapsed in the doorway. His world shrunk to a black pit as his body finally gave in, even though his spirit cried 'no!'

Sometime later, Charles woke with a start. His eyes flew open and he automatically attempted to sit up. That nearly made him pass out. He let out a small scream and collapsed back onto the sofa that he was lying on. His back throbbed in unrelenting pain, letting him know that it, in no way, appreciated what he just did. A form moved to stand in front of him. Behind it, a merry fire blazed a way in the fireplace. He looked up and smiled.

"Jenny…"

Jennifer Knight kneeled down and laid a hand on his chest. The hand was old and weathered, as if it had dealt with physical labour for years. The face that stared down at him may have once been remarkably beautiful, but it now bore the scars that time, weather and worry left upon a person bereft of the magical remedies of high society. But time could not scar the caring face framed by long, downy brunette hair.

"Charles, what on earth are you doing here?" Jennifer Knight asked.

A hand reached out to grasp her wrists with surprising strength. "Jenny! They've found her again!"

Her remaining hand flashed to her mouth as her face suddenly became a mask of horror. "Oh…My…God! No, Charles. No! Not again!"

Charles closed his eyes and nodded, fighting the flood of nightmares that threatened to take over his weary mind. Devon Miles assassinated, Michael, KITT, he, Sarah, Jennifer and Bonnie going into hiding as criminal organizations far above the law put out a slew of bounties on all their heads.

Jennifer covered her eyes with her hands. Tears sprang unbidden and ran beneath them to slide over her weathered cheeks. Silently, Charles mourned with her, reliving some of the most terrible days of their lives. It hadn't even been living. Every day, every hour, every minute had been wrought with fear. Every city, every town, every person may have been an assassin waiting to claim their lives. For months, they had lived in abject fear, each of them distancing themselves from FLAG and each other in a desperate plan to do one thing: to survive and keep one man's dream alive. They had changed identities so many times, until not even the government knew who they were. And they had managed to stay one step ahead of the shadowy assassins that stalked their trails, disappearing time and again as one got too close.

Jennifer looked at Charles with desperation in her eyes. "Not again Charles! We barely made it last time. It was just stupid, blind luck you know. That kind of chance never comes twice!"

Charles shook his head. "I know Jennifer. If anyone knows that, I do. But they're after Sarah now too!" He sat up, his back protesting in pain. "Jennifer, I need your phone or a computer if you have one."

Jennifer shook her head. "I don't have a phone or a computer Charles. I haven't had one in years! It's the only way to remain off the grid, you know that!"

Charle's struggled to his feet. Jennifer neither helping him nor holding him back. "Then I need to get to one. You have your car around back?"

Jennifer Knight sized up the man before her. He was desperate, and that alone scared her more than exposing them to the outside world. "It's bad, isn't it?" she deduced.

He only nodded.

She swallowed. "Charles, if we get found again, we won't get a second chance. They find one of us, the rest will be put in danger."

"If Sarah gets captured, the world won't get a second chance."

Jennifer looked puzzled. "Sarah? But what does she have to do with anything?"

Charles looked at her gravely. "Prometheus," was all he said.

Her face lost colour. "You…you…built it! Just like you told Michael you would. You built a supercomputer that can control our entire military infrastructure! Do you know what you've unleashed? Do you know what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands? Do you know what would happen if IT decided humanity was its enemy??!! You bastard…"

He hung his head and said nothing. She stared at him for minutes, shock and horror displaying on her face. "And only two people have the codes, don't they?" she deduced again. "One is you, and the other is…Sarah…"

Michael Knight's wife put the pieces together. "Charles, what have you done?" she breathed in utter horror.

The bright and cloudless morning greeted a shiny Shelby Mustang as it raced down highways at utterly insane speeds. It blasted past cars going the opposite direction, making the drivers wonder just what the hell had shot past their cars so fast it rocked their vehicles with its turbulence. A lone Highway Patrol officer widened his eyes as the Shelby slammed past his patrol car so fast, all he caught was a blur. Quick eyes looked into his review mirror only to see a receding car in the distance that became a small dot soon-after. Pulling a well-practiced U-turn, he flipped on his sirens and stomped the gas to the floor. The souped-up police interceptor roared and 400hp jolted the car forward toward very quick speeds. He radio'd ahead and notified his compatriots of a high-speed pursuit. Multiple cars began intercepting. But, try as they might, even at speeds that were damn dangerous considering the roads – 160mph – they could not keep up. Even the highway patrol chopper, to the pilot's amazement, saw the car pull away even with his engine's RPM's maxed and his airspeed pegged to the wall. Against all know laws, with its max speed of over 200 miles per hour, the helicopter pilot could barely keep them in sight on curved portions of the highway, and he finally lost them once the car reached some long straight parts of the highway.

Whatever that car was, and whoever was driving it, it had an insane amount of power under the hood, and its driver showed an impossible aptitude of skill at speeds that should have hurled a car off the highway. Finally, the Highway Patrol was able to call in a fast Patrol plane…but by then, any sighting of a black Shelby Mustang, or for that matter, a speeding Mustang was long gone. A hunting grid was set up with the plane and helicopter plus multiple cruisers. The most likely exits were scoured. A vast area was easily searched and any car would have been found in short order. But the black Shelby Mustang had disappeared into thin air, like a fable ghost car of the highways.

KITT drove the speed limit as another cruiser passed them. The patrol men checked out the grey Audi but saw nothing of interest and sped on. Inside the driver seat, Sarah took her hands off the wheel and curled back up on the driver's seat. Mike stared disinterestedly out the window. It had been dead silent for the last hour, and to him, it was becoming unbearable. He looked over at her and saw a familiar sadness on her face.

He decided that saying something was better than nothing. "Sarah, I'm sorry about your dad."

She quirked an eyebrow, then looked sarcastically at him. He knew the wrong thing had been said. He just wasn't sure why.

"Wow, you said something that sounded like feeling. I never knew you had it in you," she bit out sarcastically.

"You know," he replied, facing her full on. "What is your problem? I help you out, get you out of a tight spot in Vegas, and ever since, you've been giving me this cold Princess shoulder. You know, I don't deserve this! What is your problem Sarah?"

She sighed. "Mike," she explained. "The only reason you're here is because my father programmed KITT to contact and recruit you. He trusts you."

"What, so you don't?"

She smiled again, like a chess player who just made Check Mate. "Trust you? The Mike Traceur who I once thought I'd spend a lot of my life with, who walked out on me and my life without ever saying why wonders why I don't trust him?"

Mike was shocked. "What? Awww, no." He looked away. "We aren't talking about this!"

Sarah smiled and relented a little. "It's okay Mike. I've moved on with my life. I got over you. But now that we're on the subject, I am curious. Why did you blow me off? After I left for school, I called you, I e-mailed you, I practically stalked to you, and, you never responded."

Mike lightly hammered his head against the headrest. "What you want to talk about this now?"

Silence and her steely stare was all that answered him.

'Shit,' he thought.

"I mean," she continued, "I thought we had a great summer together. All year we talked about what we could do with each other and then you just disappeared. Nothing so much as a note, phone call or email. Just vanished from my life and left me hanging."

She said softly, "What kind of person does that Mike?"

After all these years, she somehow figured out how to make him feel like shit. "Sorry."

She raised a well-manicured eyebrow. "Sorry? That's it?"

Defensively, he replied, "Look, I met someone at school and didn't tell you."

"You met someone?"

"Yeah."

"At military school?"

"Yeah at military school."

She considered, then grinned. "So are you still together would did she run away with G.I. Joe?"

"Oh, you're hilarious."

She shrugged. "You could have told me, you know. Whoever it was I would have understood."

Exasperated, he replied, "Great well next time you'll be the first to know."

Sarah turned away and resumed looking forward. She was saddened - not becase he wasn't interested in her - but that in the time they had been apart, he hadn't learned, hadn't grown as a person. He was still the same old Mike. Living day to day and not caring about what happened the day before, consequences be damned.

It was sad, because she had moved on since then, and could see the trail behind her. There was a lot of distance between him and her, and it was a sad puzzle as to why he hadn't covered the same distance in life.


	11. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

The grey Audi blurred by on the highway, only slowing to the speed limit when KITT detected the radar emissions coming from patrolling police cruisers. Earlier, KITT had enabled the Federal Transponder code, but either the police cruisers didn't recognize it, or they had orders to stop all suspicious vehicles. Mike and Sarah guessed that the latter was correct. In addition, KITT detected that an APB had been put out for a black Ford Shelby. None of them believed that changing the colour of their car would alleviate police suspicions of Ford Mustang Shelby's in general. Unfortunately, the only other option was a running car chase that could cost them precious time. As it was, slowing down until they were out of range of the police cruiser's radar/laser was a minor inconvenience. Still, there were making good time, and they only had an hour to go before reaching the Graiman's home.

The cockpit was quiet, with Sarah and Mike lost in their thoughts. But for the last several minutes, Mike had become increasingly fidgety in his seat. Curious, Sarah looked over to see Mike shift in his seat again.

"Mike? Is everything okay?" she asked. She saw him grimace, then sigh in defeat.

He mumbled inaudibly under his breath.

"What?" she said.

"I gotta pee!" he hissed out, his face showing embarrassment.

"Oh…" she responded, thinking, 'I kinda gotta go too.' "KITT, where is the nearest gas station?"

_"We will reach a gas station in 5.2 minutes."_

Mike grunted in satisfaction. Still, he was a little annoyed that the only reason they had to stop was because of him. He muttered, "Say KITT, don't you gotta fuel up or something?"

_"Negative. My primary fuel cell is at 91.4 capacity. I need not refuel."_

In spite of himself, Mike felt his curiosity snagged. "Fuel cell? You run on hydrogen, plutonium, or some cool I've never heard of?"

_"My main engine is a hydrogen-powered turbine which is capable of 89 efficiency. It is supplemented by photoelectric power stored in various gel capacitance cells. In addition, the skin of my body contains photoelectric nanowires that gather solar energy and stores it in my gel packs. Furthermore, my fuel system can recycle part of the hydrogen byproducts by photosynthetic hydrogen production, effectively increasing my cruising range before refueling is needed."_

Mike shook his head slightly, not quite understanding all the scientific terms nor the principles behind them.. "Wait. Photo hydrogen – what?"

_"The byproduct of hydrogen combustion is mostly water. By using the oxidative and electron transfer processes of photosynthesis, I can replenish part of my hydrogen fuel cell through recycling the exhaust products."_

Mike pursed his lips and nodded. "Huh. Pretty neat. Gives new meaning to the phrase 'Gas and Go'."

As KITT talked, Sarah's eyebrows rose higher and higher, until they nearly disappeared into her hairline. "KITT, that is very complex. All of those technologies are theoretical…until now, I guess."

Mike grinned. "Yeah, but it's kinda cool!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yeah? And what if you are in Nebraska and your hydrogen fuel system breaks down, what do you do then?" She shook her head. "Complicated isn't always better."

He regarded her in jest, "Why do you have to hate on Nebraska?"

KITT interrupted, _"As long as my mechanical problems are minor, I can effectively decrease my mean failure break-down time."_

Sarah looked quizzically at him. "What do you mean? How?"

_"My entire structure is infused with nanobites, which can affect insitu repairs on systems that break down."_

She sat bolt upright. "WHAT?"

Mike looked on in surprise. He had rarely seen Sarah angry in the past. But right now, she was angry. very angry. "Sarah? Hey, what's wrong?"

He could feel her anger coming from her in waves. "My…dad. He took my research and used it without my permission!"

_"Sarah, perhaps I should mention that without the nanobites in my system, neither you nor I would have survived our encounters with the Blackriver strike force."_

Angry as she was, Sarah let KITT's words bounce around in her mind. Finally, some of the anger left her and she deflated. "Fine. You're right. I guess the technology was put to some good use. But after all this is over, my dad and I are having some very stern words!"

Mike shuddered. He had been on the receiving end of those words before. He felt sudden sympathy for her dad…wherever he was. As he finished that thought, KITT pulled into an exit and entered a well-lit highway gas station. As soon as the car parked, Mike got out and made a mad dash for the bathrooms. Sarah exited at a more sedated pace and also went looking for the facilities.

As she entered the building, two men walked over to the silver Audi. One glanced around while the other took out an expensive black market key tool. The man by the driver's door looked down to insert it into the keyhole.

There was none to be found.

He pocketed it, then pulled out an electronic bypass card. Keying it for an Audi, he inserted it into the crack of the door. It beeped, sending a small charge into the electronics that should have jammed the lock mechanism and unlocked the door.

KITT promptly sent a larger charge back into the device.

An electronic explosion, followed by sparks and blue smoke erupted from the charred device. The man leaped back, slammed into the car behind him, and promptly set off the alarm.

His accomplice looked on in horror, first at the massively expensive charred electronic device, then at the alarming car. "What you do???" he accused. Both fled at the noise.

Mike came back to the car munching on a bag of chips. Naturally, he walked over to the driver's side and yanked on the handle. He stopped short as the door stayed closed. "Hey, KITT. Open the door?"

_"I would ask you to use the passenger seat, as this is Sarah's preferred seat."_

"Awww, come on. I hate the passenger seat. Lemme drive."

Again he yanked on the door, but it refused to open. He stood there and grumbled.

"_Mike, there are--"_

Mike put up a hand in annoyance. "KITT, I don't wanna here it."

"_I should warn--"_

"Ack!" Mike said, making a firm stopping gesture.

"Hey buddy, you owe me some money!"

In surprise, Mike turned around. Two men faced him in the dark parking lot. Both were dressed in dark windbreakers. The one talking to him was just as tall, but larger, like the man spent a lot of time at the gym. Another man shorter in stature stood behind him. Both looked like they had a bone to pick with him.

Mike spread his hands out. "Hey guys, what's the problem?"

"Your car fried an expensive circuit board of mine!" accused the larger man. He stood aggressively in front of Mike and pointed a finger into his chest.

"Um, not to sound stupid, but what circuit board?" Mike asked, keeping his hands spread.

The big man pointed to the ground. Mike looked down to see a blackened board in the weak parking lot lights. "What's that?"

"That's mine man. Your car did that."

"Okay, wait," Mike said, eyeing the larger man. "How'd my car do that?"

"I stuck it into your car and it fried it!" the large man bellowed.

Mike stared at the man, totally dumbfounded. The second shorter, but stockier man snickered. "Yo Bruno, I think we got a dumbass here." He addressed Mike, "We was trying to break into your car, but it fried the key. You owe us big for a new one man."

Mike simply stared at the duo. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or get angry. "Okay, wait. You try to break into my car and jack it, but instead, you break your electronic lockpick, and somehow it's MY fault? Are you serious?"

The shorter man nodded. "Hey, we dun nothing. Your car broke something of ours, so we want compen- cumpsa- compensana…"

To Mike they both seemed jittery and very restless. "Compensation," he corrected, nothing that both of them were almost hopping foot to foot. 'Great, they're on something too. Probably crack,' he thought.

"Yeah, that!" the shorter one said. The larger one nodded his head.

Mike shook his head in disbelief. "Oh my God. You guys are serious. Alright guys, let me get this all straight. You guys tried to break into MY car, break your lockpick, and I'm in the wrong?"

The guy nodded. "Now you get it."

Mike blinked, then blinked again. "You tried to break into my car…" he tried again.

The shorter one jabbed a finger at the silver Audi. "You got an expensive car man. You be rich! You got Bling. You need to share man."

It was hopeless. "Tell me something guys, are you two as scared for the future as I am?"

The shorter one looked up at his buddy. "Hey Bruno, dis guy think we'd be joking around. Show him how serious we are man!"

The tall one reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handgun. Mike's eyes locked onto the gun as the black barrel aligned with his head. The man smiled. "You talk too much. Now, give us your wallet and the car keys!"

Mike eye'd the gun. He paid particular attention to the left side. "The s-"

CLICK

"-saftey is on," he finished lamely. He shrugged, "Huh. Always works in the movies."

The taller man thumbed off the safety. "You think you're smart boy? I won't ask twice. Give us your stuff or we'll take it off your dead body."

"KITT…" Mike said, making it sound off-hand.

With a roar, KITT's engine fired to life. Both the men's eyes snapped to the car in surprise. Mike promptly grabbed the handgun with his right hand. Quickly, he placed a finger between the hammer and the gun, then twisted it away from the man. The tall man bellowed in pain, and Mike felt the hammer drop and slam onto his finger painfully as the gun tried to fire…

Ripping it away from the two, Mike re-rocked the hammer and kept the gun's sights steady on the two men. They stood still, surprised at how fast the tables had been turned on them.

"Now, I suggest you two fellows take a walk," Mike sternly ordered.

They didn't move. Mike jabbed pointedly behind them before centering the sights again. "Take a walk!" he commanded.

Mike watched their posture and especially their eyes. The taller one's features became set. His eyes widened slightly, and without any further warning, he lunged at Mike, despite having a gun pointed at him at point-blank-range.

Mike dodged to his right while slipping the safety on. He bashed the gun hard into the man's head, sending him tumbling to the ground. A weight slammed into him, nearly making him lose his balance. An iron grip tried to pry the gun from his hands. Looking over, he came face to face with the shorter man. The man's face was set in a crazed grimace. Mike used his shoulder to shove the man hard into the Shelby. He slammed his elbow into the man's neck and pressed, making him gag. He kneed him in the abs, once, twice, three times, before letting him go. The short man began slumping to the pavement. Mike helped him along by twisting and slamming his left elbow into his head. Barely conscious, the short man slumped to the asphalt.

An arm snaked around his neck and another arm pressed behind his head as the taller man locked him into a choke hold. He felt himself twisted backwards, denying him any leverage from his body. His windpipe was cut-off, separating him from any oxygen. With blood starting to pound in his head, Mike glanced around desperately. He planted his feet on KITT's side and shoved powerfully with his legs. His opponent sprawled backwards into the car beside them. The sideview mirror dug painfully into his back, causing him to let go. Mike spun around and grabbed his opponent's right hand and twisted it into a wrist-lock. With a yell of pain, the man was forced around and down to his knees.

KITT's door opened and the unyielding nanomolecular surface slammed hard into the man's head. He dropped to the ground out cold. Mike gaped at KITT's actions. "I thought you weren't supposed to harm humans?" he said in a surprised voice.

"_He was able to regain a hold on the handgun."_

Mike looked down. As KITT had stated, the handgun was just next to the unconscious man's left hand. He reached over and picked up the gun. "I could have handled it," he said, affecting a cocky attitude.

Mike dragged both men far enough away from KITT to free up the space around the car. The Shelby was replaced by the shell of an Audi. Then the car backed out and the passenger door opened. Mike hopped in as KITT drove around and parked closer to the doors of the rest-stop. Mike opened the bag of chips he had bought and munched on a chip. Sarah grabbed the bag of food and hopped in the driver's seat. Mike followed and the car sped away, leaving two would-be car-jackers for the police to find.

Mike pulled out the gun and inspected it. The handgun was a Glock 21. It handled .45 calibre bullets and had a magazine that held 13 shots, plus one in the chamber. He easily took it apart into its component pieces. Aside from shoddy maintenance, it was still in working condition. 'That was the thing about Glocks,' he thought. You could throw them through sand, mud, water, and they'd still fire. The lightweight weapon was dependable and didn't jam much in any condition. Because of the .45 calibre, it kicked back a lot. The Glock 21 was a lot of gun, and being hit with one, even with body armour, would hammer a person hard enough to send them to the floor. He put the gun under one leg and opened his bag of chips. Munching on one, he turned curiously to KITT. "So, not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but aren't AI's programmed to follow some sort of 'robot rule book'?"

"_You are perhaps referring to the Three Laws of Robotics as written in the Robot series by Issac Asimov."_

"Okay, I can do without the English lesson, thanks," Mike muttered sarcastically.

"_Yes. I have been programmed to protect all human life."_

Mike brought up the flaw in the logic. "But you just knocked a guy out. You injured a human intentionally. Does that conflict with your programming?"

"_I do not believe so. I have been programmed with a greater precedence to protect Sarah Graiman's life. You are an extension of her protection. In effect, I must protect you in order for you to functionally protect her."_

"Gee, nice to know I'm in there somewhere," Mike said, his voice full of sarcasm.

"_It was him or you Mike."_

The coldness in the voice brought Mike up short. He was sure he hadn't just imagined that. Mike hadn't intended on antagonizing KITT. To him, they were logical questions that had to be asked. He wasn't the world's expert on AI's, but being trained in the military, then specializing as a Ranger, it had taught him the fundamental respect everyone learned for human life. They had all been taught when to engage an enemy, the Rules Of Engagement (ROE's), and the reasons for the violent horrors they sometimes unleashed. Yet, how did one go about explaining all that to an AI? Military combat was something that had evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. Everything that made up the rules, the essence of combat and the reasons why wars were waged against other humans was learnt and passed on by lifetimes of experiences. Yet, how did one teach all the rules and hypocrisies of life to an AI without years to understand the conflicting ideals and realities that made up life?

He caught site of Sarah walking around inside the gas station's small grocery store and browsing the drink section. For a few minutes, it was silent. Then KITT spoke up.

_"Why did you leave Sara Graiman?"_

Mike gave KITT a strange look. There it was again. He swore that there was emotion in the AI's voice, a sadness that dressed the tone of the question. Was it even possible that a computer could understand emotion? It was way too weird to even consider. No way. "Oh, we are not talking about this."

_"Sarah said you are immature and selfish, and that's why you left her."_

He looked at KITT in shock, then pointed in the general direction of the store. "She said that?"

_"Do you have another girlfriend?"_

The strange look came back to Mike's face. He was feeling a little strange talking about this subject with a computer. Really strange. For the life of him, he could not fathom how a computer could possibly understand the intricacies of human relationships. "Why are we even talking about this?" He eyed KITT carefully, and asked, to him, a strange question, "Why do you care?"

"Hey!" Sarah said, rounding the bend behind a minivan. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Mike quickly answered, cutting off any answer that was coming from KITT. "You ready to go?"

Sarah nodded, gripping the driver's door and opening it.

"Good grief," Mike muttered, seeing Sarah open the door with ease.

Tired and frustrated, James rested his head in his hands. He wasn't sure about their next course of action. The entire mission stymied him and gave him headache Excedrin Number One. He could not remember the last time any quarry gave this much trouble. Three times! Three times they had reached their target objectives, only for them to somehow elude them and escape. All three times there had been some outside factor that his team had not been aware of. He looked around the hanger that their company had rented out. Mac was lounging behind some crates while he cleaned their weapons, in case some bystanders happen to wander into their hanger. They did not want someone to see the military hardware sitting in the open. Tom sat behind Charlie and watched their resident computer expert work on the hard drives with the team's laptop.

They had flown non-stop back to their original hanger and had gone to recon Graiman's house. It had been possible that their secondary target may have gone back to search for her dad. But when they got there, the place had been crawling with FBI. The Bureau had enough manpower to search the nearby country-side, forcing his team further back from the edges. However, the situation had gone to hell when an FBI helicopter showed up and had started to fly a search pattern. The risk to his team had become tremendously high – too high to stay, and so they had retreated back to their hanger. True, they had fake Federal ID's with them, but Intel had warned them about the Agent in charge of this investigation. A Carrie Rivai. She was know to be very damn thorough in her investigations. Their covers were good, but James was in no mind to test them against the very people they were trying to impersonate. With no further option in mind, they had to wait for a possible intelligence source for the next move.

Just then, Charlie's cell phone rang. He answered it, "Yeah? Yo dude, wassup? Say what? SAY WHAT?? You serious? Yeah, yeah! Aw, you da man. No, YOU da man. No, YOU da-"

"Charlie?" James inquired, walking over. "You have something?"

Charlie looked up, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Yo man," he said into his phone. "I'm gonna put you on speaker phone with my boss. Here." He sat the phone down next to his laptop and hit speaker mode.

"_Sir, like I told Charlie, we just broke a small part of the encryption on the hard drives. This stuff uses an encryption that almost resembles the type you find in Quantum Encryption these days. That's heavy stuff man! Truthfully, I'm not sure how we did it, it was totally fluke! We never got anything that looks like Project Prometheus, mind you. But I digress. There's other stuff on this hard drive. One thing really caught my eye. I know, I KNOW I'd seen some of this stuff before. This computer code is like, fringe man, scary stuff and radically advanced. Whoever thought this stuff up doesn't even SPEAK programming like the rest of us mortals. It's AI programming. Lemme guess, you guys are going after a car, aren't you?"_

"Look, get to the point," James snarled. With the combination of his quarry escaping and no leads, his patience was wearing thin.

"_Aiight man. Just chill! Like I was saying, I've seen this stuff before. Not the whole thing, cause you'd need the AI, and that would be big time hard to get, but, like, I'd caught glimpses of this stuff before. And I wasn't even the one who hacked into it! I got a friend – dunno what happened to the dude – but I remember him telling me about this super advanced program he was hacking once. This thing was out of this world. The firewall alone was unreal man! It took my friend close to 4 straight months just to hack the firewall. And once he did, he found some seriously weird stuff. He told me he had discovered the first fully human AI in existence. Like I was gonna believe him at the time. Like, really, this was back in the freaking 1980's! So he lays some of the code on me, and I dropped in my pants. Like I said, it was major scary. What I saw was totally freaky. Anyways, the stuff Charlie sent me looked similar, until I realized what I was looking at! We only got bits and pieces of it, but I'd recognize this programming anywhere. The stuff is way more advanced now, but the basic structure follows a similar path."_

James rubbed his forehead in frustration as Charlie's friend babbled on.

"_Aiight, here's the kicker though. I know how to hack into the system. I kinda…got…the keys from my friend before he was disappeared off the face of the planet, know what I mean? From the bits and pieces of codes that we're decrypting, the stuff looks unfinished, like the dude programming it didn't have enough time to complete his shit. It's ripe open for hacking…but that's seriously relative. That's an AI in there, and it ain't gonna take well to anyone hacking it. But my friend discovered a way in, and I'm damn sure this new program is open."_

"_If Charlie can hook me up, I'm pretty sure I can hack into this system…provided I doesn't screw it up. I doubt we'd get a second chance, and I doubt anyone else could come even CLOSE to doing it. I only know because, from the pieces I can see, the structure is similar to the one my friend showed me. Like I said, I have never seen any AI program this complex. It must use an advanced neural net structure based upon…"_

"Charlie?" James asked, cutting off the tech and looking over at him.

His face was flushed with excitement as code scrolled onto the screen. He looked at James with a smile. "We can do this. I remember that inside the house, there were a bunch of monitors that showed programs running. Well, one of them was blinking with something about an 'External Access' being incomplete."

"_Yeah man. If I were to guess, and I don't miss my guesses, it's probably a way to access the AI for maintenance. The dude programming it forgot to close the maintenance door!"_

Tom said, "Homeboy didn't have enough time. We dropped in on him for a little visit." He grinned.

The voice on the other end of the phone chuckled. _"I'm surprised you didn't give 'homeboy' a cardiac event."_

"No one was home, but I know he was. He probably split fast-like," Tom said in a disgusted voice.

Mac spoke up. "I don't get it. You guys said it's an AI. Why can't it just close the door itself?"

Charlie took an excited breath, but his friend beat him to it. _"Could be any number of reasons. Could be a hard connect, in which case you need to close a circuit manually. Could be the AI is programmed not to mess with External Access Points. Y'see, AI's need to learn, and maybe this one learns with training wheels on – you know, to help it until it grows enough to sustain itself. Otherwise, it could go into Cascade Failure."_

Charlie cringed. "Ooohhhhh, that's bad."

"_Bad"_

"Bad. Bad," Charlie agreed.

James cut the two off before it could go any further. He looked pointedly at Charlie. "Can it be done?"

Charlie nodded. "I think that's it. This code is really way beyond me. Hell, I think its way beyond most people on the planet! I'd never get in if I didn't know about this Access Point. But if Graiman designed this AI, then I think we can use it to get the Prometheus codes."

"_Wait…wait…did you just say Graiman? As in Charles Graiman"_

Despite himself, James scowled at the phone. "You know about Charles Graiman?"

"_Yeah I know about him." _Awe and trepidation replaced the excitement in his voice. "_Man, you guys really know what you're dealing with here? Charles Graiman is like a ghost! Rumour has it, he was one of the main guys who helped some dead dude named Wilton Knight design the first AI my buddy hacked into. He told me that the AI was indistinguishable from a human. It thought like one, acted like one, and could do everything we could, only far faster! Then Graiman just up and disappeared. No one knows what even happened to the dude. This guy is scary smart man, like Einstein with computers. If this is his stuff, he's way ahead of anyone on the planet. Boy, the Japanese would LOVE this dude…"_

Toms sat back on his crate and rolled his eyes, "You could cut the geekage in here with a knife."

Charlie pinned him with a look that made him take notice. Gone was the geeky, Garth-type nerdy attitude. In place was a cold, almost ravenous hunger. "Man, you just don't know how close we are, do you? We've almost designed robotic limbs that possess the exact same mobility of humans. We've almost designed synthetic blood that can be used to support synthetic tissues like muscles and skin. We're at the point where we can almost build a cyborg body that would be indistinguishable from a human body. All we're missing is an AI capable of running that cyborg body. Right now scientists are stuck using lasers and radar because no AI program can handle the complexities of interpreting the massive amounts of data you get from human vision. But this AI…oh man! Sentient robots are a total reality!"

He jabbed at the phone, as if to make his point. "If we get a hold of this AI or Charles's notes and replicate the AI, a few years down the road, you may be talking to another person and not even realize they're not human."

Tom sat back and thought about that. "So…you two would finally be able to program yourselves girls that wouldn't be repulsed by you at first sight…"

"_I'm gonna program a Terminator just so he can go after you."_

"Not if mine gets to him first." Charlie turned the phone. "Yo, thanx dude. I'll hook you up when we catch up to that AI!"

"_G'luck my man." _The phone disconnected.

"Let's not screw this up," James said to his team. "We're damn lucky we're getting so many chances."

"Yeah," Tom agreed. "So, what do we do now?"

James looked at Mac. "Prep the weapons and stow them. I want us ready to move out as soon as we get some Intel. Our contact should come up with something soon. Tom, help Mac. Get ready to move people."

KITT hurtled along the highway. Sarah sat anxiously in her seat while Mike munched on another bag of chips. They were less than an hour out from her father's house, and the closer they got, the more anxious she became. None of them had any idea of Graiman's status. She hoped feverently that he was still among the living. Mike accidentally dropped a chip. It tumbled to the floor of the passenger seat.

_"Excuse me?"_

Mike looked questioningly at the AI. "Huh?"

The screen graphics showed a stick-figure picture of someone littering.

"You dropped a chip," Sarah pointed out.

Mike glanced down to where she was pointing. The chip was clearly visible on the dark mat. "Oh come on, really?" he said in a dismissive tone.

_"You would not be pleased if I dropped food on you."_

Mike had a 'are you kidding me' look on his face. He glanced at Sarah, who shrugged. "Do unto others."

The stickman graphic was replaced by the bible. _"From the book of Matthew, Chapter 7 Verse 12."_

Mike grimaced, "Oh, this is intolerable." Suddenly, he was slammed into the side of the car and pinned against the glass as it made an abrupt 180 degree turn sped back the way it had come.

"Sorry about the chip!" Mike got out while pinned.

The Shelby roared back the way it had come. _"I have received new coordinates as well as a phone call that I will patch through."_

Sarah looked puzzled. "From who?"

_"Charles Graiman."_

Her face lit up with joy. Mike looked at her and couldn't help but be uplifted by the exuberant smile on her lips.

A beep came from the console, and then an elderly man's voice followed, "Sarah?"

"Dad!" she responded, smiling. "Are you okay?"

"I escaped through the passage. I went to Jennifer's."

"Is she with you?" Mike interjected.

"Yes, she's here. Hello Mike."

"Hello Charles," Mike nodded. "Thanks for thinking of me."

"Where are you now?" questioned Sarah.

"We're at the Park Wood Motel. KITT is bringing you here. Are those men still after you?"

Sarah nodded somberly. "I think so."

They heard him sigh. "Thank goodness you're all right. Listen, has the FBI tried to contact you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. My phone has been off all night. They used it to track me."

"Use KITT to try and contact an FBI agent named Carrie Rivai."

Sarah pursed her lips, thinking back. Slowly, she remembered. "Yeah, I think I remember meeting her at the house once."

"Good. Tell her and only her where you are. I'll wait here for you."

"I love you," Sarah said, her voice slightly choked.

"I love you too. See you soon," Charles replied, the warmth in his voice palpable. Sarah sat up straighter, more alert, more…alive. Her dad! She found her dad! He was alive and well! Joy buoyed her spirits as KITT took a right turn-off.

KITT raced along small backroads and county highways. The morning sun gleamed off his mirror-like finish. Mike and Sarah sat listening as KITT played back the messages on Sarah's answering service.

"Hello Sarah. My name is Special Agent Johnson. I'm with the FBI and I need you to contact me as soon as possible. Thank you."

"Hey baby, it's me. I just got a call from an FBI agent who says you're missing? I want you to call me. I hope you're okay. Listen, I took Lucky out…"

Sarah reached down and hit the 'next message button'. She didn't feel like sharing her new life with Mike. It didn't seem like the right thing to do. Unfortunately, Mike took things into his own hands.

"Who's that?"

She glanced at him. "It's Brock. He's my boyfriend." Her eyes narrowed in anger when Mike guffawed with laughter.

"You have a boyfriend named…Brock? So, does he own a lawnmower? Use 'dude' as a verb?"

"Cut it out Mike!" she shot back. She regarded him like one would regard a delinquent kid. "What's wrong with you? Can't you be considerate, even once? People have these things called 'feelings', or didn't you know?"

He put up his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey. Calm down. Okay! I was just making fun…"

"Don't."

"Ooooooo," he breathed out, turning away from her.

KITT allowed the next message to play. "Sarah, this is Special Agent Carrie Rivai. It's extremely important you call me."

Sarah looked at KITT. "Dial that number. Put the motel's address on the screen."

Carrie wiped the sweat from her forehead. She followed her tracking team as they meandered through the forest. She could hear the 'whump, whump, whump' of the helicopter's blades above her, but when she looked up, all she saw was the thick canopy of tree leaves. The trail they were following went through some of the densest part of the forest. It was a well-though out trail. The earth was hard-packed, making it difficult to follow the footprints, and the canopy was thick, making it impossible to track anyone visually. The only thing they had going for them was that Charles lacked serious woodsman training. He had left enough broken branches and disturbed shrubbery for her tracking team to follow.

Her cell phone rang. She put up a hand to pause her team. "Rivai," she answered. Her eyebrows shot up. "Sarah! Thank God! Are you alright? Wait, he's where?"

She held the cell up and hit speaker mode. Her team, as well as her partner and the Sheriff clustered around her. _"He says it's not far. He's at the Parkwood Motel, on Route 33. I'm heading there now."_

"Okay Sarah. We'll be there within the hour."

Her team broke out into a run for the Graiman's house. "Call the rest of the team. Have them meet us at the motel," she told her partner. He lagged behind and broke out his cell phone. The Sheriff did the same.

James's cell phone rang. He opened it and listened. Hanging it up, he spoke to his team. "Parkwood Motel, on Route 33."

The team loaded up their equipment and jumped into the X5. James started it and peeled out of the small airport. Charlie looked up the location on his laptop and guided James.

"It's only twelve miles from here. Practically on this road."


	12. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

**CHAPTER 10**

James slowed down as he saw the sign for the Parkland Motel ahead. He spotted a small service road just behind the motel and pulled in there. Stopping the SUV, his team piled out. He looked at his team and eyed each member. "I seriously doubt that Grainman would go without a fight. The FBI is also on their way here. Intel says 4 Suburbans, 18 Agents and one Sheriff. The Sheriff may have also called in backup, so the enemy numbers may be substantially higher. Here's the plan: We snatch Charles, extract him, and fight out way out if necessary. The FBI will not be expecting a hard target, so we hit first, hit hard, and roll them over."

"What about that bullet-proof car?" Mac asked.

"Charlie will stay here. He and Cyber Division will infiltrate and gain control of the car. Once it's out of the equation, he can provide cover while we extract. Questions?"

There were none. "Get tactical!"

He made his way to the back and opened the trunk. It contained a few spare tools, tire rods, and some scattered papers. He reached down and pressed his thumb to a specific plate. The sensor recognized his thumbprint and opened the false floor. Under it was an assortment of weapons. James drew a Beretta 93R as well as a stubby silencer. The _Raffica _machine pistol was out of production, but the rapid-fire weapon and its 20-round magazine had always served James well. He threaded the silencer on then shrugged into a combat vest that contained multiple slots for extra clips, grenades and miscellaneous pouches. Turning on his Motorola radio, he checked the battery. Confirming it was working, he reached down and retrieved a M84 flash bang, a smoke, and one M67 fragmentation grenade. Finally, he picked out an M16/M203 grenade launcher.

Tom had outfitted himself similarly to James. Mac shrugged into the same Ballistic Load-Bearing vest. He reached in and grabbed a handful of solid-slug shotgun shells and threaded them into the holders on his vest. He repeated until the vest held the maximum number of shotgun shells. He extracted a Mossberg 500A pump action shotgun and slung it over his back. Sliding a few extra magazines into his ammo pouches, he fielded a P90 SMG.

Charlie had set up his laptop in the passenger seat. An active program scanned for the AI signature. The rest of James's team made a run for the motel.

A blue-coloured Ranchero sat in isolating in the parking lot of the motel. Tom placed a hand on top of the hood. He shook his head, signaling that the engine was cold. The car had been there for a while. James glanced into the motel room the car was parked in front of. The curtains were open. It was clearly empty and hadn't been used. Charles Graiman was in another room, except they had no clue as to which room he was currently occupying. The team followed James as he made his way to the main office.

James stepped in, leveling his weapon at the clerk manning the front desk. The young man was leaning back in a relaxed pose with a magazine in his hands, clearly ignoring anyone walking in and paying them no attention whatsoever. The fat silencer of James's gun rested on top of the man's magazine, then pressed down. The young man glanced up in annoyance. Slowly, his expression changed from disbelief to fear as he stared at the blackness of the long barrel. His eyes roamed over James, then Mac and Tom, who were guarding the entrance to the office.

"Uhhh, checking in?" he tried. The humour was lost on James.

James pressed the cold barrel of the silencer to the kid's head. "We're looking for a friend. Charles Graiman?"

Comprehension dawned on the young man's face as he realized that these men were not kidding around. "Ahhh, yeahhhh. He's here."

"Marvelous," James answered. "Which room please?"

The kid's eyes crossed in an attempt to stare at the barrel in the middle of his face. "Uhhh…it's tough to say," he replied truthfully.

James cocked back the hammer of his Beretta. "Easier now?"

The kid's eyes widened. He held up his hands in panic. "No, no. Ahhhh…what I mean to stay was he checked into 4 different rooms, so I'm not exactly sure which one he's actually in."

James flicked the barrel of his gun, motioning to the side. "Be a good sport and grab the keys."

The kid kept his hands up as he carefully slid off his seat. He moved to the side and collected 4 sets of keys.

_"I've got a lock on the car. It's close!" _Charlie said.

"Initiate the program," replied James. He reached over and grabbed the keys from the kid's trembling hands. "Thank you," he replied. His Beretta coughed, sending a 9mm hollow point into the kid's head. The kid jerked backward as the hollow point deformed and ravaged the tissues in his head before exiting the back of his skull in a massive spray of blood, brains and bone fragments. The kid was dead before the bullet finished exiting his head. His body fell raggedly onto his chair, spilling it and him unceremoniously to the floor of the office.

Casually, James gave the keys to his team while keeping one for himself. "Search the rooms. Go!"

Sarah and Mike pull up to the motel in KITT. "There's my mom's car."

Sarah glanced around. "There doesn't seem to be anybody else here."

_"A thermal imaging scan of the motel is picking up three heat signatures moving amongst the buildings. They seem to be carrying an assortment of weapons. Recognition software identifies the weapons as military spec."_

Sarah looked to the motel in horror. "They're already here! How is that…how did they beat us here? How did they find us?!!"

Mike hastily exited KITT and leaned back into the window. "Stay with KITT, and don't worry. I'll bring them back." He took out the confiscated Glock 21 and ratched the slide, chambering a round. Bringing the .45 calibre handgun up, he walked cautiously to a large tree and peered around it. Seeing no one, he proceeded at a job to the main office. Apprehensively, Sarah watched him go.

_"Proceed to the office with caution."_

Mike suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the unnecessary advice. He slowly approached the office. It was silent. Gluing himself to the left side of the doorway, he swept the office with his gun and discovered the grisly remains of the office clerk.

'Damn,' he thought, looking at the large blood splatter on the wall. The motel had just become an urban battleground. Urban combat was not among his more favorite battlegrounds in which to fight. The landscape was so irregular and unpredictable, with hidden nooks and crannies in which enemies could hide and ambush an unsuspecting person at will.

_"I can guide you to Charles Graiman's room. Would you like to avoid confrontation?"_

'Uh, like yeeeaahh…' he wanted to say. "Sure. Why not," he said instead.

However, in this situation, Mike had the ultimate advantage: an AI that had sensors to track each and every single heat source in the immediate vicinity. For him, the hiding spots in an urban center might as well have been glass, what with KITT being able to follow any person or thing with his array of sensors. Following KITT's instructions, Mike kept to the walls. His eyes scanned his surroundings, watching for the slightest hint of another person. Reaching the proper door, Mike gripped the knob and twisted. It opened inward.

Three loud explosions went off.

Already jumpy, Jennifer Traceur accidentally triggered her weapon.

BLAM!

Mike leaped back as splinters of wood showered his face. He spied his mom aiming what looked to be a humungous .44 magnum in her hand. The barrel smoked from a recently fired round.

He looked in shock at the hole in the door, then at his mom. "WHAT THE HELL?" Mike protested.

Jennifer Traceur covered her mouth in shock. She had purchased the large hand-cannon, but had never shot it. To her utter relief, the bullet had impacted two feet to the left and a foot up from her son's head. "Oh God baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Except for the fact that my own mother is shooting at me," he replied sarcastically.

"Three…two…one…now!" James hammered a powerful blow into door just below the lock. It was amazing how most people didn't know the ease at which normal house doors could be kicked in. The doorjamb splintered and flew apart. He let go of the flashbang's spoon and lobbed it into the room. Spinning around, he covered his eyes and ears. Three other grenades went off besides his. The M84 detonated in the middle of the room. Anyone looking at it would have strobes of unbearingly bright light rate at 80 million Candela. Their vision would have been blinded for several seconds. In addition, an explosion of concussion noise at 180 Decibels would have ruptured the eardrums of anyone in close range and disorientated those farther into the room. James burst into the room. He kept his profile low and swept his gun left to right, then back again. The room was empty. From the pristine bed covers and unused towels, this unit had not been used. He lowered his gun. This was the wrong room. That left three more to check. He pivoted and took a step towards the doorway.

BLAM!

The gunshot echoed through the motel complex. He immediately looked in that direction, but all he could see were more motel rooms. However, the shot had come from the farthest corner of the buildings. Bringing his gun up, he steadily made his way toward the disturbance.

"Thanks for the warning KITT," Mike bit out.

_"I did not believe Ms. Traceur would shoot at you. Perhaps you have issues…?"_

In spite of everything that was happening, from being hunted by an unknown military force, to his mother attempting to shoot him in the head, Mike gawked. Now he was sure of it. The AI was developing emotion because, had this been someone else, KITT's statement would have been ha-ha funny.

Charles Graiman walked up to Mike. He placed his hands on Mike's shoulders. "Where's Sarah?" The concern was clearly evident on his face.

"I left her around front," Mike said, spinning around. He remembered the explosions and glanced around outside. No one was visible. But they would have heard his mom's gun. He closed the door, then looked up at the big bullet hole in its center. That wouldn't fool anyone for long. "We need to get in KITT and get outta here now." Mike walked past them to the rear window of the room.

"I still can't believe you built another one," Jennifer whispered to Graiman. Mike overheard and stopped by the window.

"What do you mean another one?" he asked, puzzled as to what they were talking about.

Charles and his mom stood behind him. Charles seemed to be thinking something over. Coming to a decision, he turned to Jennifer, "He needs to know. He's still out there."

Mike felt the urgency of the situation. He knew that an unknown number of people were spread through the complex. But many battles had been lost because of poor intel. What Graiman had to say seemed very important. He weighed the pros and cons of letting him talk versus getting the hell out of Dodge. Deciding that it may pertain to their current situation, Mike faced them and asked, "What do I need to know?" The answer was interrupted by KITT.

_"Mike. The three heat sources are approaching the rooms front entrance."_

'Damn, wrong decision,' Mike thought. "We gotta move."

James came around the corner, his gun leading the way. He took precious seconds scanning the closed door. It took him a bit to see that one door seemed to be different. He glanced to his left and saw Tom and Mac moving across the parking lot towards the same door.

"How long until you're in?" he asked Charlie.

"We're already through the secondary firewall," Charlie answered over the radio.

"Good."

Mike opened the window, then quickly ducked his head out the window. When he didn't attract fire, he took another, more careful look. Seeing no one, he climbed out, then assisted his mom and Charles climb out after him.

"There was another KITT…" Charles continued. Mike spun around and held up a finger to his lips. He exaggerated the motion. His intentions were clear. 'Keep the hell QUIET!'

Mike eye'd Charles like a new boot camp newbie. This was a combat situation. In a motel area with buildings surrounding them. Voices and noises echoed off walls. If Charles kept blabbering, he would get them all killed! So he shut him up quick. Seeing Charles get the clue, he turned around, raised his gun, and continued along the buildings towards the Shelby. Charles and Jennifer were quick to follow him.

Mike gritted his teeth at the noise the two behind him were making. He was careful to watch where he stepped. Every footfall was sure. Every step measured and the weight of his footsteps watched. Even when he stepped on gravel, the rocks remained where they were and only ground minimally with his foot step. But Charles and his mom kicked what seemed like every rock in their path and dragged their heels – at least, that's what it seemed like to someone trained with combat skills.

_"Pause to avoid visual contact."_

James led his team to the door. He held back as Mac and Tom lined up by the doorjamb. His two guys had the more effective combat weapons so they would do the breach. Mac nodded his head: one, two, three! Mac dove in low and left, Tom hooked right and Tom brought up the center. All three swept their fields of fire…and found yet another empty room. But the rear window was open. Mac pounded over to the window, James and Tom hot on their heels. He stuck his head out and looked. Their quarry was no where to be seen.

KITT's thermal sensors showed the people burst into the room, then run for the rear window. _"The passage is clear."_

Mike burst into a run for the next row of motel rooms. Charles and Jennifer were hot on his heels.

James climbed out of the window and joined Mac and Tom. He signaled to Tom to go right, and then he and Mac ran to the left. They reached the end of the rooms just as Jeniffer Traceur vanished around a motel room ahead of them. James lowered his weapon, not sure of where to go.

Mike hadn't heard anything from KITT and assumed it was safe. He rounded the final corner to see the Shelby sitting under the trees. Sara saw them at the same time and stepped out of the car. She broke out into a run and threw herself into her father's arms.

"Dad! I'm so sorry for everything!" she cried.

Charles pulled his only daughter into his arms and held her tight. He reveled in the familiar warmth of her body, the smell of the shampoo and conditioner she used. Only hours ago, when he was struggling on dead legs to reach Jennifer's cabin, he was beginning to wonder if he'd see his daughter ever again, to talk about the things that they needed airing. To fix the things in their relationship that had been broken by petty words and pride. There wasn't enough time in the world, and when something suddenly came up, a person would realize that time was finite, that people would not always be around for the moments that really counted. If anything, that had lent him the trifle bit of strength needed to reach Jennifer's door.

"Me too honey," he whispered into her hair. Looking past her, he couldn't help but see the massive form of the Mustang Shelby.

Mike looked at them. Unbelievable. "Okay, seriously. You guys want to get us KILLED? Keep this up, and we will get caught!"

Charles let go of Sarah. "Hello KITT. What's the location of our attackers?"

KITT's voice came back, but the harmonics were wavy, like a tape player running on fluctuating power. Charles felt dread taking hold in the pit of this stomach. _"I cannot be certain as to their location because an outside source is hacking my system with surprising efficiency. They will have full control in 23 seconds."_

"Ah, hell…" Mike muttered, scanning the buildings with his gun. This was all going south…damn civvy's. They were gabbing and talking while an enemy force was advancing on their position. A bunch of TV writers for a bad TV show pilot couldn't have written it worse. 'This was going to get bad,' he thought.

Charlie grinned eagerly as Black River's Cyber Division worked its magic through his wireless laptop system. He saw code flash by on the screen at a rate far faster than he could possibly follow. But he was able to see bits and pieces of code, and as his coworker had mentioned, it was truly scary and advanced stuff – much like the algorithms he had seen back at Graiman's house. He looked up and through the windshield to see the distant figures of Mike, Charles and Jennifer run up to the black Ford Mustang Shelby.

He hit his radio button. "I have them sighted. They are with the car near the south-east edge of the complex. Looks like they're having a family meeting or something." Charlie shook his head in wonder. How had these dingbat's escaped them three times?

Charles thought fast. "KITT, close off all External Access points, authorization Sarah-Gamma--"

_"Authorization denied. External Access Points overridden. Primary Control Overriden. Secondary Control being overridden."_

Mike looked between the car and Charles. There was an electronics battle raging. They were losing, and he was helpless to stop it. "So what do we do?"

"_14 seconds."_

Charles knew he had no choice. Someone had somehow compromised KITT's security. The External Access Point had been left open for maintenance purposes. He had been writing a program that would allow KITT to operate the access point at will, but would also allow anyone with select DNA profiles to ask for access on a personable level. With it compromised, anyone would be able to fully control KITT to the point where they could shut him down, erase him or even copy or move his entire system elsewhere. He could not let that happen.

"KITT, shut down the computer. Now."

_"Shutting down all systems."_

He hammered his hand down on the roof in frustration, then turned to Mike and Sarah. "It can still be driven, but it has to be done manually." But they didn't get the chance.

Three people burst from behind the last line of motel buildings.

"DOWN!" Mike yelled. He aimed one-handed and pulled the trigger, sending off multiple bullets at their opponents while moving around KITT's hood. Sarah froze in place and screamed as explosions of gunfire ripped across the vacant motel lot. Jennifer tackled her and slammed her to the asphalt. Charles took cover behind the rear wheel of KITT's body. She raised her gun awkwardly over the trunk and pulled the trigger. The powerful recoil jolted the gun out of her hand. It fell onto the trunk and slid out of her reach. She ducked back down. Glass exploded and bullets punched clear through the doors of the Mustang. Mike yelled in surprise as glass rained down on him and bullets ripped exit holes in the body of the Mustang bare inches from his head.

"I THOUGHT THIS THING WAS BULLET-PROOF!!!" he yelled at Charles. He snaked a hand over the hood of the car and squeezed off shots blindly at their attackers. He hunkered down as a deluge of return fire. More glass rained down and the tortured sound of metal being ripped filled the air. The car listed as one tire exploded. Then it settled as the other tire was shredded by bullets.

"Only if the computer is working!" Charles shouted back above the canopy of explosions, hunkering behind the rear wheel and protecting his head.

"KITT!!!!" Sarah screamed in anguish, seeing her protector mauled and eviscerated by the hail of bullets. "NOOOOO!!!"

Jagged bits and pieces of his side windows remained, like small stubborn pieces of glass that refused to let go. The front windshield cracked and shuddered as glancing blows from bullets perforated it. An ugly pattern of spiderweb cracks grew bigger as more bullets pounded in and through the glass. Then, just as sudden as it had started, the shooting stopped. Mike brushed bits of glass from his hair and opened his eyes. Yelling could be heard from the other side of the car.

"FBI!"

"FREEZE!"

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

"DROP THEM NOW!"

"FBI!"

Carrie Rivai screeched her Chevy Tahoe onto the driveway of the motel parking lot…and right into a warzone. She slammed on the brakes, threw open her door and drew her Special Agent Issue Glock 22. "FBI!" she yelled.

"FREEZE!" she heard the Sheriff yell from the other side.

The other black FBI suburbans halted and FBI agents poured out the doors. They yelled demands as they took up defensive positions behind the doors of their vehicles.

James knew they were in a bad spot. They had completely forgotten about the FBI team that had been enroute to this very position. They had been so preoccupied with assaulting the Shelby that they had lost Situational Awareness. It was to their utter surprise that the army of FBI vehicles had pulled up on their flank, catching his team completely in the open with no cover whatsoever. Mac's Mossberg shotgun roared, sending slugs at the FBI vehicles. He racked the slide three times, sending lethal lead death at the black vehicles. But it was all for show as James saw the slugs bounce off the armour of the FBI vehicles.

He reached into a pouch and withdrew a grenade. Inserting it into the open breech of his grenade launcher, he snapped it shut.

Mac staggered backwards as a hail of 9mm bullets slammed into his ballistics vest. The lead flattened against the Kevlar weave but did not penetrate. But the bullets hit with the force of a baseball bat, and Mac barely prevented himself from falling. Anyone else may have gone down, despite wearing a bullet-proof vest, but this had not been the first time Mac had taken hits from 9mm bullets. It took more than that to fall the large mercenary.

But their heads, arms, and hands were unprotected, and it was only a matter of time before an FBI shooter got luck. It was time to even those odds.

James squeezed the trigger, and with a 'bloop', his M203 launcher spewed forth a 40mm grenade at the nearest FBI suburban. It impacted on the black vehicle and exploded. The force of the explosion crumpled the bullet-resistant grill and shattered the windshield. The four FBI agents using it as a shield were brutally flung onto the ground. They lay there, injured and barely moving, stunned at the sudden ferocity of the attack.

Another 'bloop' could be heard as Tom launched another 40mm grenade. The vehicle closest to him vanished in the explosion. A secondary explosion lit off as a fuel line in the engine caught. It engulfed the front of the FBI vehicle and added to the destruction and mayhem in the motel parking lot. One agent was laid up on the ground. Another lay at an awkward angle, a growing pool of blood seeping from his neck where a piece of shrapnel had severed an artery.

James felt himself take two painful hits from 9mm bullets that hammered into him. He fell to one knee, his face a rictus of pain as the hits made it hard to breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mac drop his useless shotgun, pull a pin from a grenade, and roll the bouncing sphere towards the Chevy Tahoe. Unfortunately for him, at the same time, the Sheriff was taking careful aim. A shot rang out, and Mac twisted in pain as a bullet cored through his shoulder, hit his scalpula, and lodge near the brachial artery. Another bullet smashed into his temple and blew out his brains. Like a ragged doll, Mac fell to the pavement. Dead.

The grenade exploded near the right front tire of the Tahoe where the Sheriff was taking cover. The small explosion lifted the SUV slightly. Deadly fragments ripped through the Sheriff's legs, cutting through muscle, tendons, veins and other blood vessels. The Sheriff screamed in pain and fell to the ground, his shredded legs unable to support his weight. Fragments ripped through Carrie's calf, and she too, fell to the asphalt, her handgun bouncing away as she hit the ground. Writhing in pain, she realized that nothing below her knee worked. As she rolled, she smelled something funny. Eyes widening in horror, she looked back at the Tahoe and saw a steady stream of gasoline leaking from the destroyed gasline of her SUV. She looked forward and began pulling desperately with her arms, dragging her injured body away from her doomed vehicle. Crawling admist the gunfire, she felt one of the agents grab her and haul her behind an SUV just as her own vehicle exploded in a bloom of fire, heat, and metal. Large pieces of red hot metal tore through the Sheriff, killing him instantly.

'Bloop'. The SUV she and the agent were hiding behind, as well as the last of the untouched vehicles, was slammed backwards by the high-explosive round. Carrie was lucky as the back end simply lurched over her. But the mass of the SUV slammed into the two Agents face-first, sending them flying backwards to hit the ground hard. Their heads smashed into the asphalt with sufficient force to render them unconscious.

James began advancing on the line of FBI vehicles. No agents were visible nor were they shooting back. He had been certain that he had killed three agents with headshots. He could see the bodies of well-dressed men and women laid out behind the doors, or flung away from the vehicles that had been hit with the high-explosive grenades.

WHUP-WHUP-WHUP-WHUP

He looked up and saw a helicopter coming over the hillside. It had a person standing on the landing skid holding what looked to be a long sniper rifle. The word 'FBI' was painted in big, black letters on the side. The sniper was aiming in his general direction. James dove to the side. He felt a bullet part his hair, nearly ending his life. Hitting the ground, he twisted and fired his M-16 and burnt an entire clip at the helicopter. But the 'copter was fairly distant, and he had been firing from the hip. The chances of him hitting it were slim to none. A loud roar washed over him, and the shockwave of a massive explosion hammered at his senses. The helicopter suddenly twisted in the air. It began swapping end for end as thick, oily smoke spewed from its engine.

James looked to the side. Off in the distance, Charlie grinned at him. On the hood of the X5 sat a monster of a rifle: a Barrett .50 Calibre sniper rifle. He felt his mouth crook up in a grin before radioing him. "Charlie, get over here for transport!"

"Roger!" Charlie answered the excitement clear in his voice.

The helicopter crashed behind the motel and erupted in a fiery explosion that began a forest fire.

A shot rang out, and Tom collapsed like a marionette that just had its strings cut. He reflexively fired his 40mm grenade launcher into the air with a 'bloop' before falling to the asphalt, a neat hole in his head. James had reloaded and brought up his rifle just as Mike ducked behind the Shelby again. He fired, coring the car further, shredding its tires more but unable to penetrate the thick axle and hit the man behind the front wheel. In his anger, he held down the trigger, hosing a figure eight around the wheel well. Then the rifle clicked on empty. Disgusted, he threw it aside the empty rifle and drew his Beretta. He heard the engine of their X5 moving up to his position. Slowly, he advanced on the Shelby. Turning around the trunk, he saw Graiman with two women covering him. All stared helplessly at him. A man in a dark leather jacket lay against the front wheel. A handgun lay at his feet. The slide was locked back, the chamber empty. The bullet that had killed Tom had been his last one. James raised his handgun and took aim at him.

"NO!" one of the woman screamed, leaping to her feet. She imposed herself between him and the man just as he double-tapped the trigger. The two hollow points impacted on her chest. They tore through her chest and ripped her left lung to shreds. Part of one bullet nicked her heart and severed the lower left coronary artery, depriving the powerful left ventricle of it's blood supply, creating an ischemic event that starved the muscle, which pumped blood to the entire body, of oxygen. Blood from the vessel began filling the pericardial space, restricting its pumping motions. The heart began dying. Blood immediately began pooling into her lungs as the air-breathing sacs deflated. Bright, oxygenated blood began trickling out of her mouth as her trachea filled with her life's fluid and she began chocking.

"Mom! MOM!" Mike yelled, his face a mask of horror, catching her limp body as she fell into his arms. Distraught, Mike held onto her. "Mom, don't try to move okay? Don't try to talk."

Carrie saw the X5 skid to a stop besides James. She saw James aim his gun at someone on the other side of the car. She saw Jennifer leap in front of the gun. She saw the muzzle flashes from his gun and Jennifer shudder as she took the bullets. She saw her crumple limply and heard someone screaming. Gritting her teeth against her own pain, she aimed her gun at James. It was a very far shot with a handgun, but she had a steady platform and a good sight picture. Adrenaline still pumped through her system, but her hand was surprisingly steady. Laws and Regulations stipulating the Rules of Engagement and Necessary Force fled her mind. The man had just gunned down someone under her protection in cold blood. There was no doubt in her mind that he would do so again. So she took careful aim, even as James corrected slightly and attempted to shoot Mike. Taking a deep breath, she aimed slightly high, then let half her breath out. The sights became rock-steady. She squeezed the trigger.

The .40 calibre took James in the shoulder, sending him staggering in pain against the X5. Considering the distance, it had been a proficient shot. Carrie pulled the trigger again, and again and again, breathing between each shot and aiming with the same skills she used at the target range. The second and third shots bounced off the armour of the X5 as James twisted away and put the X5 between him and Carrie. They missed James, but they ricocheted off the SUV and buzzed around his body as he hunkered down and desperately moved his ass. Like a parting gift, James had nearly made it around the front of the X5 when her last round slammed into him between the shoulders and pounded him off his feet to land in a heap on the ground.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Carrie fell forward, her gun forgotten as she writhed in pain. A foot lashed out and slammed into her belly. Her Kevlar absorbed some of the impact, but the powerful blow still it her brutally hard. She retched and threw up. A second kick lanced in, catching her on the cheek and ripping a large gash.

"Do you know how long I've waited to do this?" a voice told her.

She rolled over, spitting out the remnants of her lunch. With great effort, Carrie looked through the haze of pain and stared up at the last person she expected to see.

Her partner stared down at her. Gone was the careless and fun-loving expression that had dominated his face whilst he had been within her company. He sneered down at her, holding a non-regulation Browning Hi-Power pointed at her head. She supposed she was lucky. A bigger bullet at that range may have cracked a rib or two, bullet-proof vest or no.

"Kevin!" she gapped. She looked at him in surprise before anger welled up in her. "You bastard!"

He laughed uncaringly. "Boy, I've waited such a long time for this. Do you know how hard it was to take your stupid orders all the time? Heck, for that matter, any order period! I HATE the Bureau. I hated how you all pranced around, thinking you had all the power in the world, comfy in your ridiculous suits and protected by your stupid badges."

"Bastard," Carrie hissed. "I'm going to-"

He dropped to his haunches. "What? What? Whatcha gonna do? Huh? HUH!" He pistol-whipped her, cracking her head to the side. She took it silently, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing her yell in pain. She looked back at him, the hatred clearly visible on her face. Blood dribbled down her chin.

"You gonna arrest me Carrie Rivai, apple in my eye? You like that rhyme? I made it up one day while I was sitting around, bored out of my skull when my lesbo _partner _showed up late after nailing some other chick! You disgust me. Your world disgusts me. It's people like you who have tainted everything that we had. You and your sacrilege practices of blasphemy sex." He waved his gun with each word, "You violate God's Temple with your actions."

Carrie spit out a glob of blood. She regarded like someone who had lost his hold on reality. "So, this all a religious thing for you? You some nut hellbent on changing the world?"

He flashed her a brilliant smile. "EXACTLY! Now you get it, Special Agent Rivai. Power. The power to change the world, Carrie. The earth was an Eden, a wonderful and beautiful place to live. But humans had to come and screw it up. We altered a wonderful place into a mockery of life. We live in an age of sin and gluttony, and everyday we seem to become worse for our efforts. That has to stop. We're going to make it stop. We're going to start over. We're going to make it right."

He giggled. "What is the saying? You know, that guy on TV from Canada? Hmmm…oh yeah! If you're gonna do it right, do it right the first time!"

Slowly, comprehension dawned on Carrie. "My God…Prometheus. You're going to use Prometheus and…nuke the entire world?" she said in abject horror.

"Exactamundo!" he smiled like a magician who had just revealed his biggest secret.

"You're insane!" she accused him.

"NO!" he shouted, angry once again. "You're world is insane! Our world is the definition of sanity!"

She shook her head sadly. "You think you guys are going to make a difference in the world? For all your little speeches. For all your little antics, nothing will change Kevin. As long as humans exist, there will always be greedy, jealousy, gluttony, all the sins you speak of. It's human nature. No matter how many times you start over, it will always be there. You can't erase what's in our very nature," she reasoned.

Kevin stood up and shook his head. "You're wrong. That kind of thinking is the reason we're starting over. It's the same reason that has resulted in the chaotic state of world we have today. Your society has become so compliant and accepting its losing its humanity. You want an example Carrie? Look at the Internet. It was originally meant as a way of tying together academic institutions and unifying the brilliant minds of the world. Instead, it has been turned into a perverse mockery of its original intent. What, ninety percent of the internet is used for porn? Most of the internet sites surfed by people at work are teen porn sites? Is nothing sacred anymore? Are we becoming a destitute society hellbent on living for its vices? Can you see where this is going? Look-"

They both became away of someone yelling Kevin's name. He looked over his shoulder, yelling, "WHAT?"

Carrie shuddered. In a way, what Kelvin said made some really scary sense.

Charlie bailed out of the passenger seat, wary of any further bullets hitting the SUV. He reached down and helped James up.

James stood with a groan of pain. "Bloody hell…"

"Boss," Charlie began, "There's freaking huge deputy convoy heading this direction, as well as another FBI chopper. They're gonna get here anytime. We gotta go. Now!"

James stared at him. He and Charlie were the only ones left, and Charlie's was a computer specialist, not a combatant specialist; the next round could end with their deaths and a failed mission. "Ah…sod this! Let's go." He took a step towards the Graiman's, then stopped in shock. There, by the Chevy Tahoe was their FBI infiltrator…and he was holding a gun on another FBI Agent.

"Oh, for the love of-" James said in disbelief. Their deep-cover agent had just blown his cover, and for no reason! The stupid Senators son, who they had gone to considerable lengths to insert into the FBI, had just thrown all that work away. He repressed the urge to shoot that snotty, brat of a kid. A considerable investment had been sacrificed in the form of his infiltration. "That stupid, sodding, excuse of a human!" James spat.

"Kelvin!" he yelled. "KELVIN! GET YOUR BLIMEY ASS OVER HERE, YOU STUPID MORON!!"

He saw Kelvin look at them, give them a jaunty wave, before looking back, yell and dive out of the way. Gunshots cracked from behind him.

"Aw, hell," Charlie said, unholstering his Glock 21.

Carrie Rivai thanked her instructor. Time and time again, he had emphasized the importance of a back-up weapon, and Carrie had followed his advice. Most of the time, she had been able to strap it to her vest in a location where either her left or right hand had access to it. But in times where she was wearing civilian clothes, such as now, she had to settle for an ankle holster, and those, she swore, were more trouble than they were worth. She was lucky that surfing was an avid hobby of hers. She had gotten used to having the large board tied to her ankle. Having a backup gun holstered there was not too dissimilar in weight. In fact, the board was heavier. She had also gotten used to a weight being on her ankle, which made the unnatural weight nearly habit. But the damn gun fell out of the holster at the most inopportune times, and there were many instances when Carrie had just taken it off and stored it for a later time.

But when Kelvin had glanced behind him, she quickly pulled up her pant leg and unholstered the Glock 26. The small backup weapon fit snuggly into her palm. Kevlin turned around just as she leveled it at him.

His eyes grew wide as saucers. "HOLY CRAP!!!" he yelled, diving to the side. Whether by pure dumb luck or skill, Kelvin had twisted his torso before diving for the ground. The bullet that was meant for his heart instead ripped a shallow gash across his chest. He hit the ground hard and lost his gun. Survival instinct made him roll for the nearest available cover – the SUV's tire. The next bullet slammed into the ground his as he rolled. Two more hit the ground near his shoulder and head. He felt rock chips slash his face and yelled in surprise and fright.

Suddenly, bullets spanged off her vehicle and the ground around Carrie. Startled, she saw the muzzle flashes and began crawling backwards, dragging her useless calf along the ground. She aimed in the general direction of the gunfire and let loose the remainder of her 10-round magazine.

Some may have called it Divine Intervention, other would have just said stupidly lucky, but most of Carrie's bullets somehow hammered into the X5's armour. None of them hit James or Charlie, but they came perilously close and made them duck for cover, giving Carrie a chance to drag her injured self behind the wreck of a vehicle. Breathing hard, she heard more bullets hit her cover, but none came close to her. Looking around her cover, she couldn't see Kelvin anymore. The bastard had made a run for it.

"GET OVER HERE NOW!" James hollered at him, making him scramble away from his cover and across the parking lot. Kelvin approached at a dead run, the fright clearly evident on his face. He ran by the Mustang Shelby, but James jammed a finger at the bullet-ridden car. "GRAB GRAIMAN AND GET YOUR ARSES OVER HERE!"

Kelvin skidded to a stop, reached down and hauled the white-haired man to his feet. He shoved the man forwards and marched him to the X5.

"Daddy!" Sara exclaimed, getting to her feet. James fired a round at her. He missed, but the message was clear and she dove back to the ground.

"Get in!" James motioned to the back seat. Kelvin shoved the old man into the back, then climbed in after him. The all clambered into the safe, bullet-proof interior of the vehicle. In a cloud of gravel and rubber, Charlie peeled out and blasted out of the parking lot.

Jennifer felt cold, and she was getting colder by the minute. She was dying. Strange sensations, like people grabbing and plucking at her clothes from beneath her could be felt, but her attention was taken by her son. Mike had taken off his jacket and kept it pressed hard against her bullet wounds in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. At first, it had been a blinding, burning pain that wracked her body. Now, she was cold and numb. She looked up at her son and smiled. She could see the resemblance he had to his father. That strong jaw, those large, luminous eyes, those defined cheek bones. She saw so much of Michael Knight in her son. She bitterly regretted not being able to see the boy that had grown into that man.

"I'm so sorry," she said with difficulty.

That one word held so much. It was like a stab to Mike's heart, but he could only look on helplessly. The wounds were fatal. He knew that, and could do nothing but look on helplessly as his mom put on a brave front.

He stroked her hair, remembering how luxurious, how light the downy brown hair had felt in his young hands. "Mom? Why'd you do that? I coulda…could of-" He wanted to say 'dodged', but the words became stuck in his throat. His ability to speak quit and large, unshed tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

His mother smiled up at him. Her eyes told him she knew. They twinkled with dying light. "Always looked out for you Mikey. Always."

She exhaled, then did not take another breath. Her eyes looked at her son, but they did not see.

Jennifer Knight was dead.

The damn broke. An anguished cry reverberated around the torn-up parking lot. Mike picked up his mom and squeezed her to his chest, as if the action would prevent her spirit from leaving her broken body. Tears of grief and sorrow cascaded unchecked and splashed onto his mother's face. He rocked back and forth, the loss tearing at his soul.

Sarah put her arms around Mike and rested her head in the crook of his neck. Her own tears tracked down her cheek and pooled on his shirt. She felt him shaking with sobs, and she could do nothing but offer what little comfort she had as his world fell apart.

"I'm sorry Mike," she heard someone say. Sara blinked the tears from her eyes and looked up. Carrie Rivai leaned up against a tree. She held her stomach, and one leg hung limply, her pants ripped and soaked with blood. The Special Agent of the FBI watched the grieving man in sympathy, giving him a moment to himself. But the world was a hard place, and life itself never played by any kind rules.

"Mike," Carrie said. "I'm sorry to do this Mike, but you have to go stop them."

Mike raised his head. Tear tracks could clearly been seen running down the dirt on his smudged face. His eyes were shot with red. He wiped them with his sleeve.

"Stop what?" he rasped out.

Carrie took a breath. She felt like scum. She felt lower than dirt, like the crap on the bottom of someone's shoe. But she persevered, "Mike, they have Sarah's father and they have his hard drives. Do you know what Prometheus can do?"

'Start a nuclear war,' Sarah remembered. This wasn't fair. Mike's mom had been gunned down senselessly after giving her own life to protect her son. Her body wasn't even cold yet and they had to leave. Sarah looked down at the woman that had been akin to a second mother. It wasn't fair. But Carrie was right. They had to leave.

"Sarah." She looked up into Carrie's questioning look. "You collaborated on the initial encryption with your father. How soon can they crack it?"

Sarah forced the jumble of thoughts into a logical order. "I'm not sure. It will really depend upon just how much computing power and the skill they have. It could be anywhere from a matter of hours, to a day to a month. There's really no way to tell…"

Carrie turned her attention back to Mike. "Mike, I'm sorry about your mom. I know it sounds callous, but there's nothing more we can do for her. But we need to save Sarah's father. Once they get the Prometheus Codes, they will have no further use for him. They will kill Sarah's father too. And it won't stop there. Millions of people will be next…"

"With what?" Mike spat out angrily. "Look around you! We have nothing with which to hurt them! They trashed everything. Even if I could catch them, which I can't…"

Sarah slowly got up and turned to the Shelby…or what was left of it. All the windows save the front one were shattered and empty. The windshield was an oblique mess of bullet-hole starred cracks and holes. Its once mirror-like body was a battle-torn mess of metal that could be seen from rear to front. The tires had been shredded and the rims scarred. It was a car in the very loosest sense of the word. She reached the passenger door and hesitantly pulled it open. It groaned in protest. Peering in, Sara prayed that she would find what she was looking for.

Bullet holes and wiring poked out of the devastated dashboard. But like the eye of a hurricane, the center console was unmarred. It sat pristine and quiet, somehow surviving the massive hail of bullets. With her heart thudding in her chest, Sara reached out tentatively with her left hand and placed it on the smooth surface.

Nothing happened.

The small ball of hope that Sarah carried broke. She let her head fall forward as a fresh wave of tears came forth. This car, this AI had been her Savior for the last couple of days. It had protected her, had kept her constant companionship, and had never left her. KITT had never been judgmental, had never once ridiculed or or used her for his own agenda. The AI had never done anything save what it needed to do to ensure her well-being. It had been a friend without peer, and had never, not once, asked for anything in return.

First Mike's mom, then this… It was becoming too much for her to take.

Lost in her grief, Sarah did not see blue light appear underneath her fingertips. A green bar scrolled beneath her hand.

IDENTITY CONFIRMED

Sarah graiman

A crystal high beep sounded in the cabin, then the screen changed. Sarah's head snapped up and her eyes widened in surprise before she looked on in absolute joy.

KITT Neural network

Deactivated

As she watched, the screen updated and the red word 'DEACTIVATED' disappeared. In its place was a 3D image of a neural network. Sparks appeared in neural maze and began firing actively. Then above it appeared:

Nanomorph skin

Deactivated

Once again, the red words 'DEACTIVATED' disappeared and a bar graph sprang to life. She heard a powerful electronic moan that increased in intensity and frequency. It surrounded the car. Before her startled eyes, the chewed-up console began repair itself. Holes closed and wiring shrunk like they were being disassembled then reassembled in their proper places. The mess of a windshield cleared at a phenomenal rate as the cracks and holes healed up. With a resounding roar, the engine fired up and the car shifted. Sarah looked around in utter disbelief and awe. Not a scratch marred the interior of the car. The windows were fully replaced and the body once again regained its mirror-like polish.

"_Hello Sarah. Are you alright?"_

"KITT! I could hug you! You're alright!"

There was a pause, then, _"Agent Rivai, I have notified the Emergency Medical Services. As well, I detect multiple deputy vehicles inbound, as well as an FBI chopper. They should be here in 3.2 minutes… Mike, I'm sorry. I… I wish I could help."_

Agent Rivai stared stupefied at the transformed Shelby. She could not believe what her eyes had just told her.

Mike, still in anguish, gently placed his mom on the ground and closed her eyes. He stood up and looked down. Silently, he formed words with his lips. Then he spun around and marched towards KITT.

"Mike! Here." Special Agent Rivai held up her Glock 26 and two spare 10-round clips. Mike snatched them and resumed his walk to KITT. The driver's side door opened and he climbed in. A chrome stick shift elevated into position and clutch, brake and gas pedals lowered into the foot well.

Mike closed the door and stared straight ahead. "Sarah, get the hell out of here."

Sarah vehemently shook her head. "That's my father. I'm coming with you!"

He shrugged his shoulders and depressed the clutch, slammed the shift lever into 1st, stomped on the gas and popped the clutch. The engine roared with anger as the Knight Three Thousand tore out of the parking lot in a cloud of smoke and dust. In seconds, it was but a tiny dot on the highway.

"Good luck," whispered Carrie as she collapsed onto the ground. A minute later, a platoon of Sheriff Deputies, ambulances and one FBI helicopter flooded the parking lot.

Mike slammed the gear shift into 3rd and pinned the accelerator. The country side blurred by at a dizzying rate. Sarah watched it go by. She was scared, but she refused to show it. She would have been calmer had she know that KITT was making hundreds of corrections per second as Mike overpowered the car's handling capabilities, bringing it back under control each time.

"Thank you for doing this," she told him.

Mike stared straight ahead and declined to look at her. "I'm not doing it for you," he answered.

James checked the bandage on his shoulder. It was soaked with blood, but would hold for now. He readjusted the seatbelt to stop it from chaffing on his neck. Twisting in the passenger seat, he looked into the frightened face of Charles Graiman.

"I'm guessing if you won't give us Prometheus, the car will."

Charles wiped his forehead. "You have no idea what you'r doing. You could start a war."

James pretended to consider. "We won't," he answered innocently. Then he smirked, "But my client might. Besides, wars are always good for business!"

Charles tried to get him to see reason. "Look, I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt anyone else. Please."

The interior of the vehicle was silent as James stared at Charles, who gathered his thoughts. "Cooperate and I'll assure you that everyone will get out of this alive. Don't, and I'll…"

James paused and looked past Charles. He blinked, then blinked again. He squinted his eyes. "What the bloody HELL!!???" he said, looking unbelievably out the rear window.

Charlie shot a quick glance at his boss, then looked into the review mirror. "Holy hell. Is that what I think it is?"

James turned to him in a daze. Noooo….no way! "Is the car still shut down?"

_"I must shut down now. I have detected a network intrusion."_

"Do it KITT. I'm sorry," Sarah told him.

_"Shutting down systems now."_

"Blast!" James shouted at the laptop.

"Hey, don't look at me," Charlie's contact came over the laptop's speakers. "You need to find some way for them to turn the AI back on."

"The kid has gotta be driving now," Charlie commented, watching as the powerful Mustang grew quickly in the rearview mirror.

James turned around and pointed his gun at Charles. "Charles, we're going to need those codes right now. Kelvin, if you'd be so kind."

"Mike, take it easy!" she yelled as he accidentally fishtailed the Mustang. Without KITT's constant supervision, the phenomenally overpowered car was a beast to handle. Undeterred, Mike regained control and sped up beside the larger SUV. Then he reefed the wheel over and slammed it hard into the X5. Both vehicle skidded slightly before regaining control.

Sarah held on for dear life as Mike fought the fishtailing car and won. "Dammit Mike, my father's in there!" she yelled at him.

For the first time since the chase, Mike turned and glared angrily at her. "Don't you think I know that!"

Kelvin stuck his gun into Graiman's ear and painfully twisted the gun. "Graiman, give them the code."

James hit the autodown button for the window, then stuck his handgun out and fired off his whole clip.

Mike saw the window come down and the gun come out. He slammed on the brakes, throwing him and Sarah brutally against the seatbelts. Bullets smashed into the C-pillar and the hood. Sparks flew from the holes.

"Sonovabitch!" Mike yelled, pulling behind and to the side of the SUV, making them impossible to shoot from James's position.

"Can we turn the computer on?" Mike asked Sarah as he tailed the X5.

She shook her head. "We might have only 10 seconds before they can get control of it."

"Give them the codes now!" Kelvin yelled, pushing Graiman's head up against the window with his pistol. The threat didn't work. Graiman stubbornly stayed silent. Kelvin growled, knowing the threat was empty. Without Graiman, the chances of accessing the codes were a long time in coming.

Sara grabbed the Glock 26 that Mike had put under his leg. "Mike, pull around to the other side."

Mike wrenched the wheel over to the left side of the X5 and stomped on the gas. The powerful car moved up to the driver's side.

Charlie watched as the black car pulled up even to his window. The passenger window came down and he saw the girl aim a handgun at him.

Sarah had never shot a gun in her life, but at point blank range, she had nothing to hit but all SUV. She fired and watched in dismay as the bullets pitted the bullet-resistant glass but did not penetrate.

Charlie lowered his window. With one hand on the steering, he aimed his gun at the girl and fired.

Sarah flinched away as bullets shattered the glass. Bits and pieces slashed and cut her face. Mike slammed on the brakes again. Then she screamed as a bullet penetrated the door, tumbled through the interior and sliced into her knee. Another bullet smashed through the window, penetrated Sarah's shoulder, bounced off her clavicle, snapped it, then ricocheted into the dashboard.

Graiman saw the horrific sight of the passenger window shattering beside his daughter and the door being perforated with bullets. He yelled, "Okay, okay! I'll give you the codes!"

He traded his daughter's life in exchange for the end of the world.

Charlie watched as James punched in the alpha-numeric string of code. "That should do it. The code is being decrypted," he said, watching as the laptop churn the numbers. An upload bar appeared. "Sending it now."

Mike pulled the car back behind the X5 and to the right. James tracked their progress in the side-view mirror. Charlie also followed them. Instead of drafting them safely, it looked like the driver was getting ready to ram them in the side.

"What are they doing?" Charlie said, a tad nervous. The last broadside by the car had actually sent the X5 into a small spin. That Mustang weighed a fair bit.

James was asking himself the same question. "I don't know…" He split his time between the laptop and the black car. The completion bar on the screen slowly inched towards 40.

Sarah watched as Mike got a good grip on the steering wheel with his left hand. His right dropped down to the stick shift. In a pain-filled voice, she asked "What are you doing?"

Mike was a study of concentration. He turned to her, "When I tell you to, turn on KITT's computer."

"What for? Mike…"

James watched as the driver kept the car just behind their right-rear quarter. "What's he doing…"

"Okay Sarah, do it!"

But Sarah hesitated, knowing that they had less than 10 seconds before KITT lost his ability to operate.

Mike glared at her, "You wanna see your father again? DO IT!"

She grimaced in pain but leaned forward and placed her hand on the center console.

Charlie's laptop beeped. Both he and James glanced down at it. "Okay, the computer is back on…and it's blocking our outgoing transmission." James hammered the side of his door in frustration. Suddenly, the black car shot ahead of the X5 in a burst of speed that was on the wrong side of impossible. James could only gap as it flashed by his window faster than any car had the right to accelerate.

Sarah took in all the functioning systems on his console. "KITT, you there?"

_"Yes, though I am trying to jam all frequencies coming from the SUV. I am afraid the outside system will have control in less than 8 seconds."_

Mike braced himself. "Sorry buddy, I think this is gonna hurt."

In an apprehensive voice, KITT said, _"Mike, what exactly are you going to do?"_

Mike hammered down the brake, then spun the wheel to the left and cranked the e-brake. The Shelby nosed-down and lost a massive amount of speed before swinging its body perpendicular to the highway. He grabbed Sarah and buried her head into his chest. Both missed the words 'L Ejection Seat, R Ejection Seat: ERROR' light up on the console.

Charlie barely had time to scream as the BMW X5 t-boned the Shelby at full speed. The destructive collision shoved the Shelby further down the road. But the nanobites held the molecular structure of the Shelby together. The same could not be said about the X5. The word 'bullet-proof' is widely misunderstood and misused by the general public. By definition, the word 'proof' carries an implied understanding that it will never fail and will always repel that which it was built to prevent. However, many items, such as 'bullet-proof' glass are, in fact, 'bullet-resistant' and not 'bullet-proof'. That simple fact can been seen when bullets strike the glass and actually damage it, or the armoured metal dents inward rather than fully deflecting said bullet and maintaining complete structural integrity. Enough bullets place in a general impact point can shatter nearly all 'bullet-resistant' material. The term 'bullet-proof' implies a far more resilient structure.

A tank is 'bullet-proof' against small arms fire, as is the Knight Three Thousand. A civilian armoured BMW X5 is not…

Though armoured to withstand a limited amount of bullets, the X5 was not rated for a collision with an indestructible vehicle that halted the SUV from 99mph to 0 in less than 1 second. The SUV thundered into the Knight Three Thousand with a horrendous explosion of tortured metal and flying pieces. The bumper shattered on impact, the grill crumpled like tin-foil, the hood folded like an accordion, and the engine was forced under the passenger box. Bullet-proof glass shattered from the ferocity of the collision. The force of the impact mangled and warped the chassis. Charlie, who had not been belted in, smashed into the airbag as it deployed in 60 milliseconds. The force of the collision broke all his ribs and slammed brutally into his internal organs and ruptured some of them, causing internal bleeding. His heart suffered massive trauma as the brutal impact with the airbag disrupted its rhythm threw it into a fibrillation. Kelvin, who was also not belted in, was thrown forwards and caromed off the driver's seat, broke the floor anchors for the seat, hit Charlie on the back of his neck and snapped multiple cervical vertebrae before slamming off the inside of the roof and sailing out the front windshield. His right arm struck the Shelby as he flew by, shattering it into 5 pieces and landed head-first on the hard asphalt. The force of the impact snapped his spine in two places before he landed on his back and rolled down the road. By the time Kelvin stopped his aerobics, he had broken nearly 19 bones in his body, cracked open his head and caused massive trauma to his brain. He felt his lungs stop working as the nerves were severed. Thankfully, he passed into unconsciousness before his body suffocated to death. The pretensioners on the seatbelts tightened and bore the brunt of James and Charles's impacts. Their ribs cracked as they slammed against them and airbags. Internal organs still moving at 99mph hit the ribs and some of them ruptured. The back end reared up as the vehicle crumpled. It slammed back down on its rear wheels and bounced a few times after its energy was spent.

In KITT, Mike and Sarah were thrown to the left. Sarah felt herself hit hard against Mike's body. Her brain hammered against the inside of her skull and she lost consciousness. Her lower restraint kept her from crushing Mike with her body weight, though it ruptured her left kidney and fractured her pelvis. But by cushioning her, Mike saved her from very critical injuries.

The same could not be said about him.

KITT was built with energy absorption in mind. Alloys of absorbent material encased the car internally. As well, side airbags deployed before Mike hit the driver's side. But even so, the force of the collision caused brutal injuries to his left side as well as ruptured blood vessels in his cranium.

The sounds of the collision died away. White steam rose from the utterly destroyed engine of the SUV. The site sat silent for long moments. Not a single person stirred. Soon, the sounds of nature, the gentle wind rushing among the hills continued as insects and animals lost interest and continued along their way.

Inside the cabin of the car, a lone voice could be heard, calling out again and again, but to no avail. It sounded stricken with grief and guilt, but no one was there to hear it.

Soon, the sound of a helicopter could be heard. An FBI chopper burst over a ridge and banked in the direction of the collision. The chopper aligned with the road and descended fast as the pilot lowered the cyclic and cut the RPM's, coming down at a speed meant for combat landings. The landing skids hit the road's surfaced, bounced once, twice, then settled as the pilot cut power to the blades. The passenger door was thrown open as Agent Johnson and other FBI agents poured from the craft's interior. Carrie limped painfully from her seat. She clutched a large sniper rifle and used it as an impromptu crutch.

Johnson ran up to the Knight Three Thousand and yanked on the door handle, but it would not open to his touch. He tried a few more times as another agent attempted to break the glass. They both gave up and moved onto the SUV. Carrie hobbled up as fast as she could to the Mustang. Behind her, the pilot was on the radio. He used his Federal credentials and called in every available ground and air medivac unit that was available.

She grasped the passenger door and it opened. Glancing in, she saw the blood streaming down Mikes head and Sarah's bruised and bloodied body.

"Oh my God…" she whispered in horror. She reached over and felt for the pulse of life on each of them. To her utter relief, she found them. They were still alive…for now.

_"My fault… my fault… it was my fault… my fault…" _she heard KITT repeat.

"KITT? Slow down, okay?" she said in a gentle voice. "Tell me what happened."

In a voice unlike his normally calm and collected person, KITT related the tragic events that had led up to the present time. She was still talking and trying desperately to prevent KITT from self-termination when a convoy of Sheriff Deputies, ambulances and air medivac helicopters descended on the scene.

Agent Johnson supervised the medical crews. When they removed James, he miraculously cracked open his eyes. In a pain-filled grimace, he gasped, "This doesn't change anything."

Johnson looked in close. "Wanna bet?" he growled, snapping on handcuffs and escorting James to the nearest ambulance.

Sarah sat with her hands folded in her wheelchair in the comforting shade of a large tree. The sky was a bright blue and the sun lit the graveyard with a comforting warmness. A gentle breeze ruffled the tree's leaves, the rustling sound a gentle kindness to soothe the turmoil in her soul. Specks of light filtered through the tree, the rays sometimes glancing off the steel on her wheelchair. Her face was a mass of cuts, bruises and scratches. Her right shoulder was in a sling and it would be a while before she could walk properly again. But she had been the luckiest of everyone. Sarah wasn't sure why she was here, but with both Mike and Charles in comas, she knew she had to come. Someone had to come and say goodbye to Mike's mom, and wish her Godspeed on her journey to the other side. Another lifetime ago, Jennifer Traceur had been as much Mike's mom as she had hers. In that time, she had been a mother in the truest sense of the word. Many people called themselves 'mom', but she had lived it…right up to when she threw herself in front of the bullet meant for her son. She stared at the casket that, in her eyes, held a hero. Sara wasn't sure if she was courageous enough to do what she had done. She had never had a chance to thank Mike's mom, for raising a son who had been willing to risk his life for hers. In the end, Mike had done the right thing and helped her through the dangerous journey at great peril to himself. If someone such as he, whom she had not seen her for so many years, had thrown himself in harms way to protect her and her dad, it spoke volumes about his mother.

She supposed that thought would be her personal epitaph for Jennifer Traceur.

Sarah's gaze wandered over at the vast graveyard to the shiny Mustang Shelby, which sat in the distance. She had been told that KITT had followed the ambulance to the hospital, then sat there and would not be moved. Ever since then, the young AI had not let her out of his sensor range, and that gave her comfort. The soft footsteps in the grass alerted her as someone approached. She kept her eyes downcast and hoped no one wanted to talk to her. She wouldn't know what to say. She wasn't sure what comfort she could provide when she herself barely survived, and the fact that those she cared about were a world away in hospitals, laid up in serious condition, put a heavy burden on her own spirit.

"Hi," a deep baritone, but pleasant voice greeted her. Sarah look up…and up into the tall gaze of the man standing beside her. He stood far enough so that he was not violating her personal space, but close enough to make it personal. He had a mop of neat, curly brown hair and a strong jaw, but his face was lined with age.

The man reached up and removed his dark glasses. Light blue eyes peered at her, and Sarah felt the surreal sensation of his gaze boring into her soul. His gaze wandered off to the flower-adorned casket sitting in the sun. The light shone brilliantly on the expensive finish of the wood.

"I don't know if you remember me. When I last saw you, you were this tall," he held his hands to a height just under the top of her wheelchair's wheel. "My name is Michael--" Sarah was surprised to hear the catch in his throat. She looked up to see him swallow with difficulty.

"—Michael Knight," he finished. He glanced at her again. "I'm Mike's father."

Her eyes widened in surprised. She felt a whole cascade of emotions run through her body. She was surprised that he had even come to the funeral. Mike had rarely, if ever, spoken of his dad. And when he did, it was never really pleasant. Sarah was also shocked. From Mike's descriptions, she had always pictured him as a mean, vindictive man who took great pleasure in sending his son far away from him and his mom. And Sarah was angry at Michael Knight, for putting Mike through all the hardships in his life, from the boarding school, to letting him enlist in the army. Mike had spent most of his adult life deprived of both his parents, and for that she hated him. And yet, looking at the man beside her, she could see his face. And in his eyes Sara could see a deep pool of pain, suffering, great sadness, and helplessness. It was a whirlwind of emotion that stabbed deep into her heart. All the surprise, shock, and anger she felt evaporated in the sea of emotions she felt coming off this man.

Michael Knight looked down and played with the glasses he held in his large hands. The grief she could see in his face was nearly unbearable. In a heartbeat, Sara knew that this was not a vindictive man who punished his only child for no reason. This was not a man who angered easy and tore his family apart. This was a man who was suffering a large burden, and he suffered stoically in silence.

"Are you alright?" Sarah ventured to ask.

Michael Knight's gaze never wavered from the casket. "No. No, I don't think I'll be alright for a long time."

Sarah opened her mouth to say something of comfort, but such pain wasn't easily healed by mere words. Instead, she chose to remain silent, standing beside him in silent vigil. Finally, without anything coming to mind, Sarah said the only thing she knew to say in situations as this. It was contrite, it was generic, but somehow, she knew it was okay to say it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Michael glanced at her, and then smiled gratefully. He resumed his silent watch on the casket.

"You know, I was standing by to say goodbye by myself," Michael started. He quickly raised a finger to wipe a way a tear. "But I realized that I had said goodbye a long time ago."

Sarah took it in. Mike wasn't here, but she felt that perhaps she should speak for him. "Mike…always felt that he had been horrible to her. He said he blamed her for everything."

Michael nodded slowly. "She did a good job raising him. It couldn't have been easy."

It was Sarah's turn to nod. "It wasn't. For either one of them."

Michael accepted that. "She loved him…from the very first day."

"In the end, he loved her too," she added.

He said nothing, but though his expressions was sad, he look bolstered from the fact that his son, despite all that had happened, all that had been said, loved his mom in the end. No one should die alone, and it was some comfort that Jennifer was in good company at the end.

The burning question came to the top of Sarah's mind. The elephant standing beside them made a loud noise. So she asked, "But… why did you all leave him?"

Michael glanced at her again, then turned his gaze back to the casket. Her question was asked in neither anger nor vindictiveness. Instead, it was asked because an answer was desperately needed. He nodded. Sarah heard him take a deep breath. "Twenty five years ago, there was a man named Wilton Knight, who on his death bed, told me that one man…one _person _can make a difference."

He turned to regard Sarah seriously. "I was that man."

"Together I and a few others set out to make that difference. And we did, for many years." He took a ragged breath. "But all good things must come to an end. The organization we worked for was called FLAG: The Foundation For Law And Government. Though we were never officially sanctioned by the government, we had some very strong ties to several Federal Enforcement Agencies. Our role was to operate in areas where criminals operated above the law."

Michael took another ragged breath. "FLAG brought down some of the most notorious criminals and criminal organizations of our time. We made a difference, but in the end, we also paid a high price for our arrogance." He let out a pent-up breath and sadly shook his head. "People can become compliant, believing in the old fairy tale that Good Will Overcome All. After our successes, we began to believe it too. That was our mistake. Our downfall. We realized, too late, that the world is far uglier than we give it credit for. You see, when good overcomes, evil fights back. People fought back. Several powerful criminal organizations, cartels, black marketers, drug lords, slave runners, corrupt politicians, even some of our own government who believed FLAG's interests were in violation of their own, had all formed an alliance and fought for their right to exist. Devon Miles was the head of our organization, except he was more than that. He was our boss, our leader, and a father to us all. He was assassinated, and we were powerless to stop it from happening."

His eyes rested on the shining casket. "Along with some good cops, we brought down many of the people responsible, but in doing so, we realized just how perilous our lives were. We were being hunted, and the only choice we had was to scatter, to develop new identities for all of us, and hope that our trails would go cold."

He looked down and Sarah saw teardrops form on the dark glasses he carried. "It was the hardest thing any of us had to do in our entire lives."

Sarah placed a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry about your loss."

Michael looked over and took comfort in the sincere warmth that she exuded. "Thank you."

Sarah looked down, then back at him. "So, what happens now?"

"Now? You move forward. KITT will begin his program with the FBI. I know he will do well. What we did at FLAG kept us awake at nights. We never had the official backing of the FBI or any government agency. Having such Executive authority should protect KITT from a lot of reprisals."

She nodded. "What about me?"

Michael steadily regarded her. "What would you like to do?"

She swallowed with difficulty. She instinctively knew that anything she asked Michael Knight would be made policy. If she asked to be KITT's operator, she would be enrolled into the FBI academy and be given special training to become an effective Agent. She had no doubt of it. And yet…

She remembered when Mike had pulled the trigger on his gun and killed that person in cold blood. She remembered the look in his eyes. They were cold, deadly, and devoid of life. He hadn't even hesitated when pulling the trigger. It was a decision made in an instant – him, or the other man. Back then, she had felt something die inside her when she saw him put a bullet in the man and end a human life. But now, in retrospect, she wasn't sure if her anger had been justified. The men had killed Mike's mom. But more than that, they had showed intent to use lethal force against them all. Killing all of them was not something that would have given them any hesitation. They had been the enemy, and their goals had been to kill them. In essence, Mike had eliminated one less person behind his back that may have killed him later. He had shot him in cold blood, yes, but it had been to prevent an armed or potentially armed enemy at his back.

Sarah didn't know if she was ready to lose more of herself, her innocence, and her ignorance about the black world that existed outside of the one she knew. Quite frankly, what little she had experienced terrified her.

"I…I really love what I do. I don't think I'm cut out for all this…" she replied. She was a little surprised at how hard that was to say. As she said it, a flash of guilt erupted in Sarah. It threatened to consume her. Mike, Charles, Jennifer, they had all given so much. What had she done…??

Her thoughts jolted to a halt as she felt a warm hand grip her shoulder. "Don't feel guilty. This shadowy world that lurks beneath the surface of the real world is dark and deep. I do not blame you for not wanting to be a part of it. No one does. Believe me. I'm actually relieved you don't want to be part of it. But I do know someone who will be involved. And I have it on good authority that that someone has developed a fondness for you, and is hoping for a hand in friendship."

Sarah blinked in surprise. "KITT?"

Michael nodded.

"Of course!" she stated, shocked that he would think otherwise.

He smiled gently. "Good. KITT may get a partner, a new operator, but you will always be one of his first friends, and he will need that friendship if he's to grow. I think you're the perfect person for that. Whatever anyone says, you're a good person through and through Sarah Graiman. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

He put on his dark glasses and held out his hand. Sarah reached over and warmly shook it. "If you ever need anythinghave KITT contact me. He'll know how." He gave a brilliant smile that was full of reassurance before turning around and walking away.

Sarah reached the shiny Shelby Mustang. The driver's side door automatically opened. She smiled as Carrie helped her out of the wheel chair and placed her in the driver's seat, leaving her feet hanging out. She walked away and gave them some privacy.

_"How are you Sarah?"_

She smiled sadly. "I just met a man named Michael Knight. He was Mike's father."

"_I know. He was my…operator's predecessor."_

Anyone who had met KITT would not have caught that little glitch in his speech pattern, but Sarah did.

She got a sudden lump in her throat, and it made it very difficult to talk. "KITT…I'm sorry," she apologized. "I…I don't think I can be your Operator. I…"

"_Sarah, I understand. Though I am saddened, I do know that becoming my partner would require jumping into a lake without testing the water?"_

Sarah laughed heartily at his humour, though the timing sucked. The laughter reduced to giggles, then, to KITT's horror, Sarah began sobbing. As she tried to stop the flow of tears tracking down her cheeks, KITT began profusely apologizing.

Sarah felt all the events finally catch up to her. Her life had been turned upside down. She had gone from being a biorobotics scientist one day to becoming one of the most hunted people in the world the next. It had only been three days – three days since people had tried to abduct her multiple times at gunpoint, shot at her, chased her, and nearly killed her. And for what? So that someone, somewhere could take a great invention that would save thousands of lives and instead use it to kill those very same lives. Now, the FBI would erase her previous identity. Sara Graiman would no longer exist. She would have a new identity and be placed in another university far, far away. She couldn't even tell Brock where she was going, even though he deserved to know. It was just too dangerous, for her and for him. Nothing could be brought with her, not even her faithful golden retriever Lucky. Her father and Mike had been moved to a secret FBI hospital, the location unknown to even her for security reasons. It tore her heart to pieces.

'You move forward,' Michael Knight had said. She cried in despair. Mike and her dad's injuries were so severe; the doctors had told her that their chances of waking from their comas were slim to none. Her life had been torn apart with no recourse. Brock and Lucky would never know what happened to her. What would happen to Lucky - that happy, go-lucky golden retriever who always ran up to her, thumping her tail madly, licking her face until she had to hold her back while laughing happily, would never see her playmate again. Why didn't Michael tell her _how_ to move on?

It was a lot to take in. She wasn't doing very well.

Sarah heard a familiar sound. She turned around in surprise to see a black Trans-Am make its way through another exit. The black car shone with a mirror-like polish that was very familiar to her. She could just make out the license plate.

The name said: KNIGHT

The passenger door opened and Carrie peeked her head in. Sarah wiped at her tears as KITT quieted. Looking at her sympathetically, Carrie asked, "Are you ready?" Sarah slowly nodded.

On the outskirts of the city, a black Mustang Shelby raced through the streets. Four police cars chased it, their strobe lights flashing as they tried to corral the speeding vehicle. Ahead, a railway crossing lowered and the red lights turned on. The Shelby seemed to slow as the big locomotive bore down on the crossing. Suddenly, the black sports car sped up. It smashed through the thin crossing arm and onto the track. The locomotive tore into the car at a breakneck speed, sundering it down the middle. It exploded, sending many pieces of the Mustang flying away in flames. The wheels on the locomotive locked up in an effort to stop. It would take the train many long minutes to halt its immense momentum. In the mean time, pieces of the Mustang Shelby burnt brightly in the twilight. Officers exited their cars and desperately searched for the driver. They found a human body, possibly female, burnt beyond recognition. The entire scene was filmed by a news chopper.

Traffic slowed to a crawl as a multitude of commuters gazed upon the tragic accident. Cars began jamming the road as the onlookers watched the officers scramble among the wreckage – except one. A silver Audi slowly pulled away from the scene and drove off into the dark night.

Sarah Graiman had just been erased. To all concerned, she was a woman who no longer existed.

**THE END**


End file.
